Love Lies Bleeding
by Shipperx
Summary: Love can be a promise or a curse. . .pray that it's never both.


  
TITLE: Love Lies Bleeding  
AUTHOR: LAWard  
E-MAIL: LAWard@aol.com  
URL: http://hometown.aol.com/laward/eclectic.html  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never mine. Wish they were  
but they belong to Joss. Don't bother to sue. Have  
no money.  
SPOILERS: Anything up to Buffy: "Triangle"  
and Angel: "Redefinition"  
It doesn't fit anything after that.  
RATING: PG-15 (violence mostly)  
SUMMARY: Sometimes love is a promise. Sometimes it's  
a curse. Pray that it's never both.  
CHARACTERS: Spike, Dawn, Buffy, Dru (mostly)   
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Angel and Dru's past as described is   
pieced together from Angel and Buffy episodes. It doesn't   
reflect well on Angel...but Joss Whedon and Co. made it up.  
  
  
****************************************************  
...She suffered, as Immortals sometimes do;  
But pangs more lasting far, 'that' Lover knew  
Who first, weighed down by scorn, in some lone bower   
Did press this semblance of unpitied smart  
Into the service of his constant heart...  
  
William Wordsworth  
"Love Lies Bleeding"   
*******************************************************  
  
PART I  
  
The vamp holding Dawn growled, "I told you, Ernie,   
go find your own dinner."  
  
"I tried," Ernie whined. "But no one's around. This   
graveyard is dead."  
  
"Then maybe you should think about hunting somewhere  
other than a graveyard."  
  
Ernie demanded petulantly, "Why? You found something.   
You're just too selfish to share."  
  
With a look of exasperation the first vamp let go  
of Dawn and shoved Ernie into the side of a crypt  
causing a long, jagged crack to appear in the wall.  
Dawn didn't wait to see who won the fight. She ran.   
  
She almost made it out of the cemetery before   
tripping. Grabbing at something half hidden in  
the darkness, she tried to break her fall, but   
even as Dawn made contact with something hard and  
bumpy, her handhold broke free sending her tumbling   
into the grass.  
  
Damp and cold as early evening mist rose around her,   
Dawn glanced up to see an angel standing over her. At   
least it looked like an angel, but it was only a  
statue. And a damaged one at that. Opening her hand,   
Dawn saw a piece of the angel's wing laying in her   
palm. It had broken in her fall.   
  
Then she heard something. Looking anxiously over her   
shoulder, she saw the vampires gaining on her. Guess   
they didn't have much to fight about after she ran away.  
In a panic Dawn prayed that Buffy would show up and save   
her...which showed how scared she was because Dawn   
never, ever prayed for Buffy to show up.   
  
Instinct told her to hide quick, and hide NOW. Dawn  
listened. Climbing to her feet, she ran again,  
making a hard ninety degree turn before ducking behind   
a large granite tombstone. Crouched in the shadows,   
making herself the smallest ball of humanity that she   
possibly could, Dawn covered her head with her hands   
and closed her eyes.  
  
"Hey, Ernie, where'd she go?" the first vamp called   
into the darkness.  
  
Ernie answered, "That way... I think."   
  
"If you find her, I'll share."  
  
"If I find her, she's mine. You don't share. I   
don't share."  
  
Dawn waited. How long before they found her?   
Minutes? Seconds?  
  
"Hey, Ernie!" The vamp's voice was startlingly loud   
in the stillness of the night. The guy was definitely   
not subtle. "Where'd YOU go? Damnit, I found her first!"  
  
He sounded close. Too close. Dawn started to wonder  
if it hurt to be bled dry. It couldn't be pleasant,  
someone sucking on your throat so hard that they   
actually removed most of your blood. It had to  
hurt. . .and leave a hickey.   
  
Wait a minute. Why hadn't he found her by now? He   
had been awfully close. Then she noticed it was  
quiet. Really quiet. Scary quiet.   
  
Dawn lifted her head, but ducked again when she   
heard footsteps. They were kind of muffled because   
of the grass--okay, so maybe she didn't exactly hear   
footsteps, but Dawn thought she heard someone moving.   
Let it be Buffy, she silently pleaded. Oh please,   
please, please let it be Buffy.  
  
Then she became aware of someone standing over her.  
Dawn opened first one eye then the other. She saw   
black boots. Well, okay, Buffy owned black boots...  
although these were kind of bulky masculine looking   
boots. Then again, maybe Buffy was making some kind   
of "I'm the Slayer, and I'm here to kick butt,"   
fashion statement. But as Dawn's gaze rose there was   
no doubting that it was a decidedly masculine figure   
standing in front of her. Nix, the "Buffy making a   
butchy fashion statement" theory.  
  
Craning her neck to look upward, Dawn gazed into a   
pair of dark, difficult to read eyes beneath equally   
dark brows. All she could do was breathe the name,   
"Spike..."  
  
He crossed his arms. "Are you goin' t' sit there   
shiverin'?"  
  
"I'm not shivering, I..." Dawn noticed that she  
was rubbing her arms. "Okay, I'm shivering."  
  
"Lucky you're not dead," he snapped. "What in the   
bloody he--" Spike stopped, abruptly cutting off the   
word 'hell' in mid breath. Dawn wondered why adults   
did that. It wasn't like she didn't know what he  
was about to say, and as words went 'hell' wasn't   
all that bad. He could have been saying the 'f' word.  
  
Spike started again, "What are you doin' in the bloody   
cemetery after soddin' 10pm?"  
  
"Actually, it's not all that bloody around here."  
  
"No thanks t' you. A few more minutes and lovely   
bits of red stuff--which would have come from you--  
would be splattered all over the place. Now, get up."  
  
Dawn stood and dusted off her jeans.  
  
"Where's the Slayer?" he asked gruffly.  
  
She shrugged. "Buffy's not around."  
  
Spike's dark brows drew down sharply over his eyes   
creasing his forehead in a pronounced way that made   
him look worried or angry or just plain evil, Dawn   
wasn't sure which.   
  
"What the bloody hell do you mean the Slayer's not   
around? Does she allow her defenseless li'l sister   
to wander around vampire infested graveyards after   
dark? Of all the bloody stupid--" He started   
to pace and mutter, as if there was more energy in   
his body than he could possibly contain. "And who   
would she blame when someone dragged your bloodless   
corpse home? Me! That's who she'd blame."  
  
"Why would she blame you?"   
  
"How the am I supposed t' know? But, mark my words,  
somehow, some way I'd be blamed."  
  
"I know what you're talking about," Dawn sympathized.   
"Like when Buffy lost her lip gloss, did she ever   
think 'hey, I must have left that over at the   
Willow's or at the Magic Shop?' No. Somehow it was   
my fault. Like I would even want her lipstick..."   
Dawn's voice trailed off as she noticed Spike   
glaring at her.  
  
He harumphed. "As I was saying, if your pre-pubescent  
body was bled dry, the Slayer would want my hide, and   
I have enough problems what with the Slayer mad enough   
t' stake me on sight--"  
  
"Why would Buffy want to stake you? What did you  
do?"  
  
"Why is it always 'what did Spike do?' Why couldn't  
it be someone else? Why not Mr. Oh-So-Perfect  
Riley Finn?" Spike stomped around the graveyard. "You   
want t'know what I did? I'll tell you what I did.   
Nothin', that's what. Not a single, bloody thing. I   
was doin' 'er a favor. I was helping 'er. I was..."   
He stopped dead still, picked his hands up and gazed   
at Dawn in a bewildered, puppy-like manner. When Dawn   
didn't say anything, Spike glared menacingly. When   
she still didn't say anything, he shrugged and started   
pacing again. "Alright, so maybe I did something   
that made her a bit angry--not that she SHOULD be   
angry--just that she might have misinterpreted my   
motives."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like nothin' that's what. Like none of your  
business that's what." He cut off his explanations  
and straightened his long leather coat. "Alright, then.   
Pick up the pace. We've got t'take you home."  
  
Dawn blinked. "You're walking me home?"  
  
"Can't leave you 'ere with the vampires. They   
aren't all nice ones like me." He grinned. He was   
kind of scary when he grinned.  
  
"ARE you a nice vampire?" she asked.  
  
"God, no. Perish the thought. I'm not the least bit   
nice. But unlike the two vamps 'ere, I'm not plannin'   
t' eat you for dinner. I was about t' go to the Bronze   
for beer and chicken wings. Now, come on. You're   
slowin' me down."  
  
"Um...sure." Dawn fell in step beside him. "Wait!"  
She ran back to her hiding place behind the gravestone  
and picked up the broken piece of the statue. Walking  
over to the broken angel, she tried to fit the piece   
of wing back into place.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Spike said quietly as he  
emerged from the darkness. "It's a lost cause."  
  
"If I could turn it just a little bit in this  
direction--"  
  
He reached up and took the shattered piece of  
angel's wing in his hand. "It's been my experience  
that once something is broken, it stays broken."  
After pocketing the fragment, Spike gestured toward   
the pathway. "Let's go."  
  
"Broken things CAN be fixed, you know," Dawn   
protested. "You're probably only saying that   
because you pre-date Superglue."  
  
Spike laughed. "Right. I've got problems 'cause  
I'm older than superglue. Sure."  
  
They walked in silence. Dawn wasn't sure why Spike   
was quiet. He seemed to be the talkative type, but   
she was quiet because she was still sort weirded out   
by how good his laughter had sounded. It was warm   
and...Well, wasn't it kind of unexpected that a   
vampire would laugh? Somehow she'd always thought   
that vampires were either plain evil or all   
brooding and gloomy like Angel...But Spike? Spike   
was different.  
  
Dawn knew a little about him. She'd never spoken  
with him, but she'd heard things. Things like  
how he'd once unleashed a monster called 'The Judge'  
who would destroy anything that had the tiniest   
hint of humanity. And how he'd once found the  
Gem of Amarra that gave him eternal life and let him  
go outside in daylight...only Buffy had taken it from  
him.   
  
Oh, and Spike had once helped save the world.   
  
Her mother had told her that one. Mom said Spike had   
shown up on their doorstep, and she had invited him   
in for hot chocolate. Imagine that. Mom could be   
so incredibly brave sometimes. Anyway, once Spike   
came inside--and had his hot chocolate--he had   
offered to help Buffy save the world.   
  
Now, when most people talked about "saving the world"   
it was all hype, like someone bragging, "I'm the   
Slayer. I'm the chosen one, and I'm going to save   
the world." But that time Spike and Buffy had saved   
the world. Of course Buffy claimed that SHE was the   
one who did the saving ... but then Buffy would say   
that wouldn't she?   
  
Anyway, saving the world wasn't the cool part. It  
was the important part, but it wasn't the cool part.  
The cool part was that Spike had done it all for  
the woman he loved, Dora or Dulcinea or something  
like that. Wasn't that sweet? Imagine a guy actually  
saving the world for YOU. How cool would that be?   
You'd have to love him forever after that wouldn't you?   
  
Dawn frowned and wondered what had ever happened to   
Dulcinea. She thought about asking Spike, but his   
brow was furrowed again, making him look grouchy.  
His shoulders were hunched and his hands were   
stuffed into the pockets of his long leather coat, and  
his face was almost completely lost in the shadows   
except for the brief moments when they passed beneath  
streetlights.  
  
As Dawn studied Spike she tried to see the guy who   
could "save the world" or even the "interfering, evil   
vampire" that Buffy and Riley claimed he was. Gazing  
at Spike, Dawn wasn't sure she saw him as either of   
those guys. Actually, he looked a lot like Sting   
had looked in that "Behind the Music" special on   
VH1--Sting when he sang for The Police, not Sting in   
the Jaguar commercial. Sure Spike's scowl was dark and   
kind of menacing. But there also seemed to be a smile   
playing around the corners of his mouth as if he   
knew a joke that very few people did and wouldn't it   
be great if you shared it too?  
  
Spike didn't look evil...not at the moment anyway.  
  
Of course Buffy said not to be fooled. Spike WAS   
evil, and he'd only helped save the world because   
he was trying to delay his trip to H--E--double   
hockey sticks. And the only reason he wasn't eating   
people for dinner was because Riley's bosses at  
the Initiative had put a chip in Spike's brain  
making it impossible for him to hurt people.  
Now Spike could only hurt demons...like Buffy  
hurt demons.   
  
Dawn stopped walking and looked at Spike in   
surprise. "You staked those vamps didn't you?"   
  
He glanced at her and the overhead lights brought  
one half of his face into stark relief while the  
other half remained in darkness. "What vamps?   
The gits in the graveyard?"  
  
"The vamps trying to kill me. Those vamps. You   
staked them."  
  
Spike shrugged and just kept walking.  
  
Dawn had to say it. "You saved my life."  
  
Spike didn't say anything, so Dawn ran after him,  
grabbing his arm and turning him around. "You saved   
my life," she said breathlessly. "You rescued me."  
  
"Did not."  
  
"Did too."  
  
He frowned. "Look, they were makin' a bloody  
awful racket in the middle of the graveyard during  
the best part of E.R. Then they broke the wall of   
my crypt which, by the way, scattered candles all   
over the floor settin' my bed sheets on fire. Vampires   
don't like fire you know. And those sheets were damn   
expensive. Do you know how difficult it is t' ste--"   
He stopped. "Just stop sayin' I saved you. It'll   
ruin my reputation."   
  
Spike began restlessly moving again, leaving the small  
circle of light and blending seamlessly with the night.  
Then suddenly he came back to the light. He asked  
excitedly, "The Slayer would like it if I saved you,   
wouldn't she? I mean, you can't hold a petty grudge   
against a fella who saved your sister's life." He   
smiled again, and this time Dawn wasn't surprised   
by it. Actually, his smile looked pretty good, even   
better when he began to grin. "Yeah. Tell the Slayer   
I saved you."  
  
"But you did," Dawn said quietly though she had the   
funny feeling she was talking to herself. Spike was   
once again lost somewhere the shadows. Then she saw   
a flash of platinum blonde hair in the moonlight.   
"Hey!" Dawn called. "Wait up for me. There are   
vampires out here."  
  
Minutes later they stood in her front yard. Spike   
leaned against the big oak tree and pulled out a   
pack of cigarettes. When he lit one, Dawn scolded,   
"Those things will kill you."  
  
He looked up and there was amusement in his eyes.  
  
"Oh, right," she belatedly realized. "You're   
already dead." Only Spike didn't seem dead...or   
undead as the vampire case may be. He seemed to   
overflow with life. Dawn glanced at the door then   
back at him. "You want to come inside?"  
  
He dropped his cigarette and crushed it beneath the   
heel of his boot. "Didn't you learn your lesson   
about invitin' vampires into the house, niblet?"  
  
"Don't bring up that Harmony thing. That was an   
accident. I just forgot for a moment--but only for   
a moment--that a vampire can't enter your house   
unless invited. I'm no dummy. I know the rules.   
But the rules don't apply to you--"  
  
"Why thank you."  
  
"You've already been invited to the house."  
  
Something flickered in his dark gaze. "Know that  
do you?"  
  
"Well, yeah. Mom told me."  
  
He circled Dawn. "No, I mean that I'm still   
'invited' into the house. I thought the Slayer   
had forgotten."  
  
Dawn blinked. "Oh, you mean that spell that Willow   
did to keep Harmony and Dracula from coming back.   
Buffy didn't forget about you. It's just there's   
nothing she can do about you."  
  
Spike looked funny, like he wanted to know something  
but wouldn't let himself ask.  
  
"You want to know why Buffy can't do anything," Dawn   
realized. "It's because Buffy wasn't the one who   
invited you in. Mom did, and SHE said she didn't see   
a reason to disinvite you. You couldn't hurt us even   
if you wanted to, and she didn't think you did...want   
to that is."  
  
Spike looked a little disappointed, perhaps even  
sad. Dawn wondered why, then decided it must be   
tough going from powerful and intimidating to   
being told you're harmless. Somehow Dawn didn't   
think Spike liked being called harmless.  
  
Then she noticed something else. Blue. His eyes   
weren't dark at all but a clear, fathomless blue.   
Sky blue. . .only not the sky of the day but of  
the night, a rich shade of indigo only seen when  
the moon was full and shining brightly across  
a field of snow or a stretch of sand.  
  
Deciding to cheer Spike up, Dawn offered, "Why   
don't you come inside and have cocoa or something?"  
  
"Dawn, get inside the house!" Buffy yelled  
from the doorway.  
  
"Slayer. . ." Spike said under his breath. Dawn  
glanced at him. She'd heard what he said, but  
she couldn't figure out the way he said it. Was   
he glad to see Buffy or mad about it?  
  
"Inside, Dawn, now." Buffy yelled again.  
  
Dawn protested, "But--"  
  
"No buts. In."  
  
Dawn shifted on the balls of her feet. Buffy  
sounded really mad which meant she probably should   
go inside, but curiosity was killing her. Buffy   
stormed into the yard. Why WAS Buffy so angry?  
Dawn wondered. It wasn't like Spike could hurt  
her.  
  
Buffy shot Dawn a look that DID look evil, so  
instead of protesting Dawn slunk into the house.   
She also went straight to the window and raised   
it an inch so that she could hear what Spike and   
Buffy were saying.  
  
There was a sound followed by a grunt that made   
Dawn think Buffy had slammed Spike into the oak   
tree. But that couldn't be right because Spike   
laughed.   
  
"What are you doing with Dawn?" Buffy demanded.  
  
"Who said I was doin' anythin' with 'er?" he   
asked.  
  
"The two of you were standing in the yard and   
she was inviting you in for hot chocolate! What  
did you do to her?"  
  
"What? Do you think I hypnotized 'er or somethin'?  
That's Drac's game. I never--well okay, maybe I   
did try once, but that was fifty years ago and..."  
Pushing Buffy away he turned around and straightened  
his coat. "And did you ever think that perhaps your   
sister was bein' hospitable? Not everyone is a  
bottomless well of homicidal rage like you--"  
  
"And you," Buffy snapped.  
  
"Well, yeah. Still, nothing t' be so worked up  
about. The little one is now home, safe and sound  
and ready for you tuck 'er into bed with her   
stuffed animals and 'N Sync posters."  
  
"How do you know she has stuffed animals and  
'N Sync posters? Have you been sneaking  
into the house again?"  
  
Spike shook his head but it didn't look like a denial.  
It looked like disbelief. "You're losin' it Slayer.   
Goin' round the bend. She's FOURTEEN YEARS OLD. It's   
not like it takes a bloody genius--"  
  
"That's good. Because one isn't available."  
  
He jerked back, retreating several feet away  
from her, balanced in the almost dancing pose  
of a boxer. "That's it. I'm leavin'."  
  
"Don't let me stop you."  
  
But before he could leave the yard, Buffy grabbed him  
and swung him around. Dawn thought Buffy may have even  
thrown a punch that Spike deftly dodged. He laughed as  
he danced out of her reach.   
  
"What did you mean by Dawn's 'home now?'" Buffy  
demanded.  
  
"It's ten thirty, Slayer, do you know where your   
sister is?"  
  
Dawn ducked below the window as Buffy glanced toward   
the house.  
  
Spike amended, "I meant do you know where your sister   
WAS?"  
  
There was a pause. Buffy was probably glaring at him.  
  
Spike said softly, "She was in the graveyard."  
  
"Snitch," Dawn muttered.  
  
"I don't believe you," Buffy snapped. "Dawn knows   
better than that."  
  
"Knowin' and doin' aren't always the same thing,   
Slayer."  
  
"And I'm supposed to believe you found her and   
walked her home to protect her?"  
  
He laughed again. "Hardly. I was just out lookin'   
for demons in the mood for a brawl, and she sorta   
tagged along. Thought I'd drop by and ditch her."  
  
"Liar," Dawn said under her breath, then felt a soft  
touch on her shoulder. She looked up to see her  
mother looking at her disapprovingly.   
  
"It's not nice to eavesdrop," her mother scolded.  
  
"I--Well, I had to listen. Buffy is beating up  
Spike when she shouldn't be. He really did just   
walk me home to protect me." She gazed at her   
mother. "He saved my life."  
  
Her mother blinked. "What do you mean? How did he   
save your life?"  
  
The front door slammed. Buffy stormed into the   
living room. "Where's my stake? I'm going to do   
it this time. I'm going to take Spike out."  
  
"Now, Buffy," their mother said soothingly.  
  
"I'm so sick of seeing him, of listening to him,  
of his hearing his oh so annoying 'I'm so insightful'   
comments. He gets off on it, you know. He laughs   
at me, at knowing the stuff going on behind my back.   
If I wanted to know what was going on behind my back   
I'd look. I'd. . . I'd. . . I'm gonna kill him. Get   
it over once and for all."  
  
"Now, Buffy, you can't kill him."  
  
"Why not? He's a vampire. I'm a vampire slayer."  
  
"You can't slay him because your sister says he   
saved her life..."  
  
* * *  
  
Outside in a hazy cloud of smoke Spike watched  
Buffy's mom close the living room draperies. He'd   
heard every word they had said. The old myth about  
vampires having heightened senses was quite true.  
He saw things. He heard things. He even felt things  
that no one knew about.  
  
Spike dropped another cigarette to the ground and   
crushed it out.   
  
Nice woman, Buffy's mom. He was dashed glad he hadn't   
eaten her when she'd first invited him into the house.   
Not that it had been wise of her to let him into the   
house. He'd thought about killing her. But then she'd   
offered hot chocolate, and it threw him. It really   
threw him. First of all who in her right mind would   
offer a vampire hot chocolate? Second of all...well   
who could kill someone kind enough to offer hot   
chocolate?  
  
'Kind' was rare in the world. It always had been.  
Oh, people spoke about being kind and generous, but  
actual evidence of it was pretty thin on the ground.   
People put pretty faces on many things. They   
coated venom with sugar and good manners, but scratch   
the surface and most of the time you found that   
'polite' was just the pretty white icing on a cake   
made of caa-caa.   
  
He'd learned that in quite brutal fashion more   
than a hundred and twenty years ago. When he had   
confessed to Cecily Addams that he loved her only   
to have his admiration thrown in his face with the   
words, "You are beneath me." It had been a blow to   
his pride, his heart, and his manhood. . .Of course   
it had also sent him into the night and into   
Drusilla's arms, so perhaps it was a forgivable   
insult.   
  
That long ago night when he had stood alone and in   
pain, Dru had stepped out of the shadows. She had   
given him a look...such a look. It was impossible   
to describe, but it had been a balm to his soul...  
and he'd even HAD a soul then. He'd had one and   
had willingly surrendered it to her.  
  
Funny, but despite general expectations, that night   
it had been the human who had been cruel and the   
vampire who had offered sympathy and understanding.   
Buffy had described it as "trading up the food   
chain." What a cold and dispassionate description   
for someone's death and rebirth.  
  
Spike had never told anyone what it was like to die.  
What it was to look into the eyes and face of death  
and welcome it gladly, as he had welcomed Dru. It  
hadn't been painless. Surrender never is. It would  
have been a shame if it had been. Such moments  
in one's life should not be easy or pass unnoticed--  
especially if it was one's death. It should be felt  
and understood that here one thing ends and another   
begins.  
  
Spike remembered the moment of dying quite clearly, of  
Drusilla's arms wrapped around him as he fell to the  
ground, of the warmth of his own blood streaming from  
the wounds in his throat until his heart slowed and  
ceased to beat. He remembered growing cold, and the   
world going black.  
  
But that was not all he remembered. He remembered  
other things. Worse things. The things of nightmares.   
  
No one had warned him about that.  
  
People knew the part about vampires being the   
"undead." He had even made a mockery of it to   
Buffy's sister only minutes ago. But it wasn't   
something easy to joke about...not for a vampire.   
Humans looked at vamps and saw life AFTER death.   
What they didn't see was what had preceded it--   
death itself.   
  
He had died in a dark alley while wrapped in Dru's   
arms. She had stayed with him, cooing softly in her   
nonsensical often childlike voice, holding him,   
comforting him, staying with him ... at least until   
dawn when Dru had by necessity left him behind.  
  
The police had found him hours later. Thank god,  
it had been before the rats. He had been aware  
of every moment as the bobbies dragged him into   
a covered carriage, as they had covered his face  
with linen. He could hear the moment when his   
mother had identified his body.  
  
Very distinctly he remembered the sensation of   
being laid out for display. Left lying in the   
front parlor for all the world to see in the hours   
before his funeral. He had heard Mrs. Daylripple   
comment to his mother how very nice it was to see   
that his cravat was properly tied and that his   
shirt points had been crisply starched. One could   
always tell a gentleman by his grooming. A properly   
tied cravat was the measure of a man. . .and wasn't   
it a shame that poor William had always been so   
remiss with his cravats and collars? The old bitty   
had even gone on to talk about the importance of   
properly polished shoes.   
  
Why had his mother not shown the least bit of outrage?  
Her son lay dead, and she had listened and agreed with   
her next door neighbor's assessment of the deplorable   
condition of his shoes.   
  
Bloody hell, the state of his shoes was at least   
partially due to Mrs. Daylripple herself. Her dog had   
taken a piss on them daily. He'd leave the house,   
and Mrs. Daylripple would stand on her front steps   
saying, "Oh, William, there you are. My butler seems   
to have disappeared somewhere this morning--you never   
can find good help these days. Would you be a dear   
and take Sebastian for a his morning walk?"  
  
William would look down to see the dog growling with   
teeth bared. It was incredibly generous to call it  
a dog. It actually looked like a glorified rat with   
too much hair and too many teeth. But William had never   
told Mrs. Daylripple no, though day after day he had   
vowed to do so.   
  
The truth was Mrs. Daylripple didn't have a butler.   
Ever since Mr. Daylripple had died she had lived on   
a meager inheritance. Her staff had been let go years   
ago, and as she had stood on her front steps looking   
as fragile as small brown finch, William had been   
unable or unwilling to say no. Besides, she also had   
a touch of the gout. So despite daily affirmations   
that today was the day he would ignore her and go   
about his business, William had always taken   
Sebastian to the park where the dog lifted his leg   
and took a morning piss on William's shoes.  
  
After Mrs. Daylripple had run out of comments about   
his less than satisfactory sartorial style, Claire   
Haversham and her husband Gunther had come to stand   
by his casket. Gunther had maintained the physique of   
a modern American football player beneath his   
Victorian garb and was known for his disreputable   
temper. Actually, Gunther's temper had been more   
than reputation. Claire Haversham had sported dark   
bruises on her cheek and on her arms just above her   
gloves more times than William had cared to count.   
He'd never doubted that Gunther had been the one to   
place those bruises there.  
  
Once when leaving Hookham's bookstore, William had   
seen Claire in intimate conversation with a man who   
had not been Gunther, but having known Gunther's   
monstrous temper William had overlooked the incident.   
William hadn't told a soul, not even when he saw Clair   
and her friend taking an early morning walk in Hyde   
Park or when he had crossed paths with them in Covent   
Garden.   
  
The last time Claire had seen William as well. She had   
begged with tears in her eyes, "Please, William,   
don't tell Gunther. You don't know what he will do.   
You don't know how truly terrible he can be."  
  
William had offered his handkerchief and sworn on his  
grave that as long as he breathed he would never,   
ever tell.   
  
Having gained his oath, Claire had smiled and laid   
her hand against his cheek. "Thank you, William.   
Thank you dearly. You've saved my life."  
  
Such a pretty sentiment. . .too bad she hadn't   
remembered it at his funeral. Standing at his side   
looking at his lifeless corpse Claire had murmured   
the uninspired platitude, "Doesn't William look   
lifelike?"  
  
"More than he ever did in life." Gunther had   
chuckled.   
  
"Gunther, please, you shouldn't say such things."  
  
"Whyever not?"  
  
"Because someone might hear you which would be  
dreadfully embarrassing."  
  
"You feather headed bint. No one would care. It's   
only William after all." Then Gunther had scolded,   
"Don't demure like that, Claire. Watching you play   
your hypocritical little games is vexing and sets   
my teeth on edge. You know the truth as well as I,   
and don't pretend you feel any differently. All of   
society is gleeful at the prospect of never again   
hearing the fop's bloody awful poetry."  
  
Claire had smothered a laugh. "True."  
  
"There. A moment of honesty. I didn't know you   
had it in your wretched little self."  
  
"Do stop, Gunther. William may have been a twit,   
but he had his uses."  
  
"Ah, did you manipulate him into keeping one of your  
many little secrets? Was it your French cher ami or   
your Italian Don Juan? Don't say it was the bloody   
Irish fellow."  
  
"Hush! Someone might hear."  
  
"So? Everyone in society knows what a little whore   
you are. The only fool deluded enough to believe   
you possess even a shred of virtue is the one   
lying in this casket."  
  
William had stopped listening to their bickering at  
that point. He wasn't sure when they had drifted  
away, but he had been aware that Cecily was the   
very last to arrive.  
  
Cecily Addams had stood over him while pleasantly   
conversing with Rosalyn Paddington-Smythe. They   
could have been discussing the weather for all   
the sympathy they had shown over his bloody   
demise.   
  
"Can you believe that he did this for me?" Cecily   
said in a nauseatingly happy voice.  
  
"For you?" Rosalyn had asked. "William was   
murdered."  
  
"Oh piffle. That's what they want you to think, but  
I know better. Last night he confessed he loved   
me, and when I said I'd have none of him, he turned  
ever so pale. I do believe I shattered his heart."  
  
Rosalyn had snorted. "Little surprise there. All of   
society has known for ages that William was blind   
sick in love with you. Still there's no reason to   
think his death was anything but what it appeared   
to be--"  
  
"He did himself in, I tell you," Cecily had snapped.  
"He was mad with love for me, and when he knew he   
could never have me, he slit his own throat. It's   
quite romantic actually."  
  
"More romantic than him mooning over you day and   
night?"  
  
"Gads yes. That was mortifying. As if I would ever  
look twice in his direction. I'm glad he's dead and  
will never bother me again."  
  
"But you like the idea that he committed suicide   
over you?"  
  
"Oh my yes." Cecily had cooed triumphantly, "Ariel   
Castleton never had anyone commit suicide over   
her..."  
  
The rest of his funeral had passed in a nightmarish  
haze only to be followed by something worse...his   
burial.  
  
William had heard the clatter of dirt on his casket,  
but had been unable to move or scream. In those  
moments of terror, thoughts had begun to race through   
his head. What if he wasn't dead? What if he was only   
paralyzed and by burying him, locking him beneath six   
feet of earth, they were killing him? Slowly. He   
would die in the dark, alone, screaming...No one  
would hear. No one would know or care. Or worse, what   
if he WAS dead, but would remain forever alert as he  
was now--thoughtful but trapped in stifling darkness?   
He would go insane, trapped in this box, in this dead   
body...a body that might decay while he still lived.   
Oh God...oh God.   
  
For hours William had been plagued by the unthinkable,   
by night terrors that could not be banished because   
there was no candle to light. There was nothing, just   
black, still darkness that closed in on him, blinding   
him, suffocating him as it whispered of horrors that   
could not be put into words.   
  
Spike remembered saying to Buffy not too many weeks   
ago that death was on her heels and that one  
day it would catch her, that part of her even wanted  
it to catch her. It would stop the fear and uncertainty,   
and, though she was incapable of admitting it to herself,   
deep down some part of her was just a little in love   
with it. He'd said, "Part of you is desperate to know.   
What's it like? Where does it lead you?"  
  
Those were dangerous questions. Questions he  
should have warned Buffy not to ask because those  
questions had lead William to hellish hours locked   
inside a casket with no way out. Even when the spell   
that had kept his body motionless had released it's   
hold, William had been unable to free himself. He   
had pushed against the lid of his coffin screaming,   
screaming at the top of his lungs until there was no   
air left, just the still, stifling darkness. He had   
torn at the satin lining of his coffin until his   
fingers bled, and he had died a thousand deaths with   
no one there to know.  
  
When at last he had fallen into a state of exhaustion   
and despair, William had heard a faint noise. Someone   
was digging him out. An eternity later the lid of his   
coffin had been lifted, and he had gazed into Dru's   
insanely beautiful face. His angel. His own dark,   
demented angel. She had said in her sing song voice,   
"Anarchy is upon us. Let's have some fun."  
  
Dru had offered her hand and pulled William free of   
his grave. It was only then that he had noticed the  
large, dark man standing next Dru. The man had held   
a spade and had clearly been the one to do the digging.   
A small strikingly beautiful blonde stood behind Dru,   
stroking Dru's dark hair.  
  
"Darling girl," the blonde had cooed. "You should have   
told us about your pet sooner. It couldn't have been  
pleasant to have been locked in there for so many  
hours, and if you cannot take care of your pet you  
are not allowed to have one."  
  
Dru's eyes had widened. "Care? Oh, I do care,   
Grandmummy. I do."  
  
The blonde had smiled benevolently. "Well, I suppose  
we can overlook this one incident. Just be sure to   
clean up behind him and keep him fed."  
  
Dru had turned, laid her hand on the pale blonde's  
cheek. "So weeping, a mystic shape did move and   
drew me backward by the hair..." she had chanted.   
  
The blonde had looked nervous and pulled away.  
  
"Dru," the dark man had growled, his slight Scottish   
burr shading the timber of his voice until it seemed   
to merge with the sounds of the night. "We have your  
playmate. It's time to go."  
  
"Go?" Dru had asked blankly. Then her eyes had lit  
with madly beautiful fire. She had approached  
William excitedly. "Guess now who holds thee?"  
  
William had gazed uncertainly from creature to   
creature. From the demented Dru, to the smiling   
blonde demon named Darla, to the dark man Spike   
would later learn was called Angelus...one day   
to be known as Angel.  
  
"Guess!" Dru had insisted as she had grabbed his   
lapels, pulling William further into the night.   
"Guess who holds thee. Not death. Do not say   
death."  
  
Frowning a little, William had searched for the   
name. "Dru?"  
  
She had laughed and the sound was like quicksilver.  
Beautiful, elusive, and deadly. "Noooooo. Not   
death. Not Dru. Love." Her laughter had died,   
and her eyes had become dark and distracted as if   
she gazed into distant worlds.   
  
Then she had looked directly at him. "Love will   
always have you," she professed. "It will call to   
you and crush you and make you scream. You will   
nurture it and it will call you ashes. You will   
protect it and it will not see. Show it truth,   
and it will damn your eyes." Dru begun to sway.   
"Stand you there between dark and bright. What   
will you choose?"  
  
"What?" William was lost.  
  
Dru's gaze had narrowed. "Which will you choose?"  
  
"I..." He had glanced at the other two, Angelus  
and Darla. Angelus had turned his back and walked  
away. Darla had given him a smile and a shrug that  
seemed to say she had no clue about the things Dru  
spoke of. Then she joined Angelus in the mist.   
William had been left alone.   
  
Dru had offered her hand. "Which will you choose?"  
  
Again William looked into her eyes--dark and soft,  
lost and childlike, shrewd and lethal. Dru alone   
had gazed at him in empathy. She had said he had   
strength and that his greatest wealth lay in his   
heart. Dru had wept over his dead body, though   
she had the least reason to weep. And she had   
come in his darkest hour to set him free.   
  
"I choose you," he had answered, only half   
surprised by his words.  
  
Dru had laughed, but it was a pleasant, inviting   
sound. Again she took his hand. "No. I chose   
you. Extra special." Tucking his hand into the   
crook of her arm, Dru had pulled him deep into   
the night.   
  
They had followed in Angelus and Darla's wake,   
walking from Tottenham Court Road to Leicester   
Square. William had been enthralled by the city   
he had previously thought he knew.   
  
It was said that when you became a vampire you   
lost your soul and became possessed by a demon.   
Maybe that was true, but it hadn't felt that way.   
It had felt like being set free. Night was no   
longer just darkness but a myriad of tints and   
shades, beautiful in their complexity. And sound   
became more clear in the crisp, cold air.   
Everything was more vivid and more vital...more   
wild.  
  
There had been a scream in the distance. Dru   
had tugged his hand, pulling him down a   
labyrinth of back alleys until they came across   
a dreadful sight, a man savagely beating a woman   
as another man stood and watched. When the man   
who stood doing nothing saw the strangers now   
watching instinct must have warned him to run.   
Unfortunately for the bloke, he'd run into the   
beautiful Darla's deadly arms.  
  
"Oh, what a pretty boy you are," Darla had cooed   
before transforming her lovely face into that of   
a vampire. The man had begun screaming even   
before she sank her teeth into his throat.  
  
Angelus had pushed past William, shoving him   
into the wall before grabbing the woman who   
had been so savagely beaten. If for a moment   
William had believed that Angelus was rescuing   
the woman, he could be forgiven. Initially it   
had looked that way, but looks could be  
deceiving.   
  
Angelus had fallen ravenously on the woman.   
With gruesome, animalistic sounds he had   
ripped the bodice of the woman's expensive   
dress and buried his face in her bosom. Blood   
soaked her lace chemise and pooled between her   
breasts. Then William noticed something he had   
not seen before. The woman was Claire Haversham.   
  
William frowned. If that was Claire then...  
  
William turned and saw that the remaining man,  
the man who had so savagely beaten Claire was  
Gunther. Gunther stood frozen in terror watching  
his wife's brutal murder and he did not do a   
thing. He didn't move or make a sound of protest,   
he just backed into the shadows as if hoping the   
demons would forget that he existed.  
  
William would not forget.  
  
Dru tugged at William's sleeve. "Oh, do join the   
party. It's your birthday. This party is meant   
for you!"  
  
At the sound of Dru's voice, Gunther looked up and   
saw them for the very first time. He had backed   
further into the shadows crying, "You! I know you.   
You're...you're dead!"  
  
It was at that moment William's transformation into   
Spike had become complete. Whereas before anger and   
rage had been something shunted to the side, now it   
coursed through him like a river of fire, bursting   
through dams that had long held unruly emotions in   
check. A blazing torrent of feeling flowed through him   
crashing and smashing and destroying all that stood   
in its path. All rules by which William had lead his   
life fell away, and Spike strode forward as power   
surged through him.   
  
"Do I look lifelike now, you bullying git?" Icy   
disdain chipped away at William's upper class accent,  
clipping his words sharply as Spike sent Gunther   
flying into the alley wall. Bricks were crushed   
to a fine orange and red powder and Gunther fell   
to the floor, his neck twisted at painfully   
awkward angle because his spine had been broken.  
  
William (Or had it been Spike?) looked at Gunther's   
broken body with an impossible mixture of horror   
and satisfaction. For once in his life William   
had stood up to a bully. For the first time since   
his death, Spike had killed; and as Gunther's   
lifeless form slumped gracelessly onto the ground,   
Spike found his sense of satisfaction outweighed any   
nagging regret. He'd given the brutal bloke his just   
due, and it had felt good. No, it had felt better   
than good. It had felt great.   
  
Of course, giving Gunther what he deserved resulted   
in Gunther's death. It was murder. There was no going  
back after that. Spike could never be William again,  
and all those silly thoughts of what was bright and  
gleaming and beautiful in the light of day was  
exchanged for the wildness and the darker, more  
complex beauty of the night. William was dead, and   
Spike was just learning to live.   
  
Dru had clapped her hands. "Oh, what a clever,   
clever boy you are," she had gleefully praised.   
  
Delicately wiping her lips free of the blood of   
Claire's cher ami, Darla examined Gunther's  
body and pronounced in a disturbingly calm and  
practical voice, "It's a start."   
  
Darla had then tapped William on the shoulder  
and said in a lecturing tone, "But you'll starve   
if you only break them to bits. Drink first.   
Kill later."  
  
To this day, Spike wasn't sure whether he had   
truly meant to kill Gunther Haversham. Perhaps   
he had only wished to vent years of frustration.   
Maybe he had decided the brutal, bullying Gunther   
deserved a taste of his own medicine only he had   
underestimated his sudden preternatural strength  
. . .Or maybe he had simply been turned into a   
vampire, and that's what vampires did. Kill. Without  
remorse and without pity. They were creatures of   
rage and destruction. They relished anarchy and   
thrived in chaos. It was their nature, and so   
perhaps it was inevitable that Spike embrace the   
wildness coursing through him just as he had   
embraced the insane beauty of the night.  
  
Angel had dropped Claire's lifeless husk on the   
ground next to Gunther, and without a backward   
glance he'd called over his shoulder, "It's time   
to go."   
  
Not knowing what else to do, Spike had followed.  
  
That had been the beginning. And that had been   
the general way of things. They had hunted the   
streets of London like a lions hunted the Serengeti,   
culling the weak from the heard and stalking the   
most desired prey.  
  
That had been Spike's first triumph. Stalking.  
  
It had been Gunther's final words that had given   
Spike the idea. "You're dead!" Gunther had cried   
in horror, and late one night, just as dawn had   
tinted the sky with the shades of pink and lilac   
that Cecily had favored in her dress, Spike had   
remembered Cecily's glee in thinking that "William   
the Bloody" had committed suicide over her.  
  
Spike sought out Cecily for the first time at the  
theater. Hamlet had been playing. It had set the   
perfect mood. After an evening of death and   
hauntings, a glimpse of the "dead" William in the   
crowd had been enough to cause Cecily to go quite   
pale. She had disturbed several of her companions   
asking if they had seen William as well. Spike   
had made quite sure they hadn't.  
  
Later he had followed her to the opera. Cecily had   
swooned. At the Paddington-Smythe Soiree, she had   
flown into a fit of hysterics. Spike lost count   
of the nights he had stood near her in the dark--just  
close enough to be seen but not to be touched. She   
would never be allowed to touch, to reassure herself   
that her eyes did not deceive her. Let her worry.   
Let her stew. Let her doubt her sanity. She would   
be allowed no way to prove that "William the Bloody"  
was real.  
  
Spike became increasingly bold, allowing Cecily   
glimpses of him in half light. Or speaking to her   
when she was alone on some dark terrace. He hid   
himself in the shadows but he stood near, very near,  
and in time he drew close enough for her to touch   
if she dared. She never did.   
  
Spike had even invited Dru to the hauntings. Dru   
had found the mind games to be ever so fun. She   
liked the scent of fear in the air. She thought it   
was intoxicating. Dru had even thought of a few of   
her own troubling tricks to play. Dru was such a   
wonderfully wicked girl.   
  
One frigid winter night she had bumped into Cecily   
outside the theater and slipped a bloodied handkerchief   
into Cecily's muff. Cecily had discovered it while  
in a circle of her close friends, friends who had been   
horrified by the morbid souvenir in Cecily's possession,  
for it had been quickly noted that the handkerchief   
bore William the Bloody's initials. That became the   
moment when Society began to whisper that Cecily was   
obsessed with William.   
  
Cecily swore he followed her in crowds and spoke to   
her when she was alone. He was dead as they all well   
knew for they had seen him buried, and yet Cecily   
would swear she saw him at the opera, or walking   
along the street as she left a ball. Society would   
make sympathetic noises as she raved, then behind   
her back they would whisper that Cecily was grief   
stricken over William's demise. She was obsessed   
with the poor fellow. The more Cecily protested that   
this was not the case, the more certain Society   
became that it was.  
  
Spike loved it.  
  
He enjoyed watching her become increasingly agitated.  
He laughed as she developed a habit of glancing   
anxiously over her shoulder to look for him, always   
searching for his face. Society tutt tutted over her   
actions and noted that Cecily had begun falling apart   
not long after William's death. Of course, William and   
Cecily had always been devoted to one another...   
  
Yes, it was revisionist history, but much of   
history is revised. Given the turn of events,  
Society reassessed Cecily and William's association  
and concluded that Cecily had always been obsessed   
with him. Spike had laughed long and hard about   
that. It was impossible to describe the satisfaction   
he had felt as the story transmuted and changed from   
day to day until it was said that Cecily was the   
deluded creature with an unattainable love.   
  
Then came the night that Spike had shown himself to   
her, not in shadows, not in a brief glimpse, but in   
her house. . .in her bedroom. Cecily's shrieks of   
horror and distress had been earsplitting. He'd   
loved it. He'd even added to the effect by  
showing her his vampire face... but he hadn't   
killed her. No, that had never been the plan.   
  
Spike's scheme had reached its intended climax   
when a shaking Cecily--still claiming that William   
was alive and a vampire to boot--had been dragged   
to the madhouse. She had been quite sane of   
course, but who would believe her. Vampires?   
Piffle.  
  
She hadn't stayed in Bedlam long, but it had been   
long enough. In their day and age and social circle,   
to be tainted by even a hint of scandal meant   
banishmment from the golden circle. Cecily had become   
a pariah to the very social set she had wanted so   
badly to impress. She lived her life--her very LONG   
life--on the fringe of polite world where she stood   
not only unadmired, but unwanted.   
  
Spike had taken great satisfaction in that...on   
William's behalf, of course. It had to be on   
William's behalf, because Spike no longer cared.   
He had Dru.   
  
Angelus, however, had not been happy with Spike's   
antics. He had been angered that William had shown   
himself to people who had known him in his human   
state. If anyone discovered that Cecily spoke the   
truth, they would become the hunted instead of the   
hunters. That was intolerable, so Angelus had   
dragged the four of them from London to Yorkshire.   
  
However, despite Angelus' rage and contempt, Spike   
had never regretted a thing. William "the bloody"  
may never have found vindication in life, but Spike  
had gained revenge after death. It would do.  
  
Noticing car headlights passing down the street,   
Spike stepped behind the large oak tree in Buffy's  
yard and remembered Dawn asking if he was a "nice  
vampire." For once in his undead life, Spike had   
answered a question with the unvarnished truth.   
No, he was not nice. . .or kind. All kindness in   
him had died more than a century ago, killed not  
by a demon but by an unkind world.  
  
After another car passed, Spike gazed up at the warm   
colored lights in Buffy's house. They stood in   
stark contrast to the inky blackness of the night   
that surrounded him. In some way the kindnesses that   
had been extended to him beyond that door and in   
those lights was a balm to the soul that William had   
lost so long ago. Somehow knowing he had a standing   
invitation put some part of his inner rage to rest.   
Of course Spike knew the invitation was an illusion.   
He was not truly welcome or wanted--not today or in   
that Victorian parlor where he had professed love   
only to find rejection and humiliation. Still he   
clung to the invitation. Illusion that it was, it   
was better than nothing.  
  
Spike pulled out his cigarettes and found the pack  
empty. Crushing the wrapper in his hand, he  
began the long, lonely walk to the Bronze. If he   
couldn't have cigarettes he could at least have   
beer. He never saw the slender, swaying feminine   
form just beyond the border between dark and light.   
  
Dru stood beyond the reach of the steetlamps chanting   
in her soft childlike voice, "Oh dear, you look so   
strange. Thought I warned you. Love is a devil who   
will not let you rest. . .though you pace upon   
mountains and hide your face in stars."   
  
She pulled her cloak more tightly around herself.   
"There's a chill in the air and the trees begin to   
cry. Birnam comes to Dunsinane, and I come for you.   
I chose you, Spike. Extra special."   
  
  
PART III  
  
Someone was in his crypt. He had fallen asleep in   
his chair but he'd definitely heard someone sneak   
into his lair. For one slightly mad moment Spike   
thought it was Buffy. Then sanity returned. The   
door was still on its hinges, and Buffy wasn't   
slamming him into a wall while threatening him  
with a stake. No. Couldn't be Buffy.   
  
Harm maybe?   
  
Bollocks. If he'd had any idea how annoying Harmony   
could be, he never would have become involved with   
her...not that Harm didn't have her uses. She was   
a terribly lovely, nubile, blonde thing. If she sat   
on his lap and caressed his neck and face and...  
other parts that could use caressing, he wouldn't   
turn her away.   
  
With a slight smile curving his lips upward Spike   
opened his eyes...and saw Dawn sitting on the floor  
munching Cheetos and watching his television.  
  
"This show is crap," Dawn said as she licked orange   
stuff off her fingers.  
  
Banishing all erotic thoughts from his head, Spike   
glared at her. "Never been warned that sneaking   
into a vampire's lair, much less watching his   
tele and eating his snacks, is dangerous? And   
that show isn't crap. It's Passions."  
  
"It's crap."  
  
Yeah, Spike had to admit it was crap. Unredeemable,   
unwatchable crap...which was why he loved it. Whoever   
wrote the drivel was a worse writer than he had ever   
been. And considering how exquisitely awful "William   
the Bloody's" writing had been, that said a lot...which   
was why Spike found perverse pleasure in watching it.   
  
Dawn tilted her head slightly. "Can I ask you a   
question?"  
  
"Can I stop you?"  
  
"Probably not, since you can't hurt people."  
  
Spike sighed and noticed that muted sunlight   
streamed through the etched glass transome over  
the door to his crypt. It wasn't dark yet so he   
wasn't going anywhere. Crossing his arms he said,   
"Shoot."  
  
"Why exactly do you have a television but not   
electric lights? I mean, if you have the   
electricity...?"  
  
"Vampires don't like a lot of light. There's the   
'bursting into flames' issue."   
  
Dawn shook her head. "I don't understand that   
either. If you don't like fire--"  
  
"I like fire fine. I simply prefer not to BE on fire."  
  
"Whatever. I still don't understand why you've got   
like a hundred candles in here. If that isn't a fire  
hazard then what is?"  
  
He couldn't deny the logic of her statement, but   
he had an explanation. "Fire is danger. It's   
exciting. Electric lights? Bah. No romance   
in them."  
  
Dawn still frowned.  
  
"What now?" he growled.  
  
"How did you ever get anyone to run electricity   
to a crypt?"  
  
"Bloody hell, did you come here just to annoy me?"   
Then Spike frowned. "Why ARE you here?"  
  
She stood, wiping her hands on her jeans, leaving   
a orange tinted trail on her pants. "I didn't   
finish what I came to do last night."  
  
"Which was what? Become someone's dinner?"  
  
"No, to test if I'm a Slayer."  
  
That got Spike's attention. He almost laughed...  
except he could tell that the child was quite   
serious.   
  
Spike shook his head. "Pet, it doesn't work like   
that. It's the Chosen One, not the Chosen Siblings.   
One Slayer. Last I looked, the one holding the job   
isn't dead."  
  
"But there are two. Buffy AND Faith."  
  
"Far as I know, Faith's not dead either. Just   
locked up in the state penitentiary. And even if   
Faith finally has shuffled off this mortal coil,   
you wouldn't be the Slayer. Never heard of Slayers   
coming in matched sets, and I've made it my business   
to know about Slayers."  
  
Dawn looked at him searchingly. "Have you known   
many Slayers? Besides Buffy and Faith that is."  
  
"Known a couple." No need to tell the child that   
he'd killed them. Spike asked, "Whatever gave you   
this cock-eyed idea anyway?"  
  
"It's not a cock eyed idea!" Dawn protested.   
"And maybe I am a Slayer. It's the only thing   
that makes sense."  
  
Spike shook his head. "Then nothing makes sense.   
You aren't a Slayer."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Because I do."  
  
"But--"  
  
"No, buts. I'm old and grouchy and you just broke   
into my crypt. Stop asking stupid questions."  
  
She glared at him. "If I'm not a Slayer then why   
are Mr. Giles and Buffy so worried about the Council   
finding out about me?"  
  
Spike leaned forward. "What do you mean? Those  
priggish Watchers already know about you now."  
  
"Not everything. Buffy and Mr. Giles are hiding   
something. Something about me."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"They're hiding it from me too. But I heard them   
talking about it with Mom. They said there was   
something about me that they had to keep from the   
council. It has to be that I'm a Slayer. What else   
could it be?"  
  
That was a question, Spike thought. He looked   
intently at the child. She looked like an ordinary   
young girl to him...but then that's the way most   
Slayers started. Only Dawn couldn't BE a Slayer.   
  
He'd been telling her the truth--which was really   
very good of him because he was quite talented at   
lying--when he said that Slayer status didn't run in   
families. Far as he could tell, the powers that be   
must have decided if a family had to sacrifice one   
daughter to protect the world, then it wasn't fair to   
ask them to sacrifice two.   
  
Dawn didn't look convinced.  
  
"Alright then." Spike sighed as he stood. "I think   
I can solve this question once and for all."  
  
Dawn stepped back. "You aren't going to hit me   
like you did Tara are you?"  
  
He frowned. "No, I'm not going to hit you. Besides  
when I hit the little witch I was just trying to   
prove she wasn't a demon. If I hit her and it hurt   
me, she had to be human. A human witch but a human   
just the same. And no, I don't need to hit you to   
prove you're a Slayer. It doesn't work that way.   
What I was going to suggest is that you hit me."   
His gaze lifted sharply. "That's why you were in   
the graveyard last night, wasn't it? You were   
looking for some vamps to dust. Didn't work out   
so well, did it? So now you're lookin' for a  
vamp with training wheels."   
  
She fidgeted. "Well, yeah. Sort of. You won't  
kill me if I mess up."  
  
"So hit me."  
  
Dawn balled up her fist and just stood there...and  
stood there, and stood there. "Close your eyes,"  
she told him. "I can't hit you when you're looking  
at me."  
  
"Bloody hell."  
  
"Just do it, okay. Please?"  
  
Bollocks. He always had been an easy touch where  
birds were concerned, even if it was only a fledgling   
like this one. He closed his eyes, and Dawn socked   
him in the jaw. He opened one eye. "That it?"  
  
Dawn blinked. "Didn't that hurt?"  
  
Spike shook his head. "Want to try again?"  
  
She hit him in the stomach.   
  
It still didn't hurt. He studied her. "Have we   
learned our lesson now?"  
  
She looked downcast. "I'm not a Slayer?"  
  
"Not even a little bit."  
  
"Well maybe if I hit--"  
  
Spike interrupted her. "The rest of my anatomy   
is strictly off limits. Vampires don't hurt easily,   
but we aren't impervious to pain...and some parts   
are more easily injured than others."   
  
Seeing the frown marring her pretty little   
features, Spike felt an odd sensation move through   
him. Compassion? "Look, little snack, slaying isn't   
that good a deal. Short shelf life. You don't really   
want to be a Slayer."  
  
"Then what am I?" she asked.  
  
"A fourteen year old girl as far as I know."  
  
Dawn shook her head and looked confused. "Then  
what are Buffy and Mr. Giles hiding about me?"  
  
"That, Niblet, I do not know." He glanced toward the   
window. It was now dark outside. "Bloody hell."  
  
"You don't have much of a vocabulary do you?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Beg your pardon, Miss. My   
gaze drifted toward yonder the window and I find   
myself somewhat vexed by the discovery that   
twilight is upon us thereby necessitating I escort   
you to your humble abode."  
  
Dawn's eyes widened at his plumy accent. "Do that   
again."  
  
Falling into the now familiar Cockney cant he  
had adopted since his death, Spike quipped, "Don't   
need t'. Don't want t'either."   
  
There was a knock on the door.  
  
Dawn instantly looked more alert. "Buffy?" she  
asked.  
  
"Phfaw! Unlikely," Spike scoffed. "The door's  
still on its hinges. Slayer doesn't knock. She   
barges in. It's probably only Harm."  
  
"Harmony!" Dawn squeaked. "She chained me to a wall  
once."  
  
"Don't worry about Harm. I can keep 'er in line."  
Spike walked to the door, opened it, and didn't move.  
He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He didn't  
need to breathe--he was a vampire after all--but he  
couldn't have breathed even if he wanted to.  
  
Dru stood there with her long dark hair and an   
anachronistic wool cloak draped over modern clothing.   
It had been so long since he had last seen her. Years.   
It was like a ghost, a memory, a dream had suddenly   
walked back into his life. It felt unreal, and she   
looked. . .she looked. . .  
  
"Pet!" Spike cried, pain arcing through him as he   
reached out to touch her. "What has happened to you?"  
  
Drusilla wavered on her feet and fell into his arms.  
Spike scooped her up in a strangely graceful move as   
her long cloak enveloped them both and swept dust   
off the floor. He carried her across the room and   
gently laid her down as Dru turned her blinking gaze   
toward Dawn.  
  
"What is that?" Dru pointed to Dawn.  
  
"Nothing. A girl," Spike told her. "No one."  
  
Dru's bewildered eyes looked at him, cutting him to  
the quick. "Are you sure?" Again she looked at Dawn   
and hissed like a cat. "Away with you, you unnatural   
thing."  
  
"Hey!" Dawn protested. "Who's the vampire here?"  
  
Hesitantly, Spike touched Dru's face... her poor   
ruined face. "Love, what happened to you?"  
  
Dru grabbed his hand between both of hers. "I  
hurt, Spike. I hurt all over, and you didn't even  
do it to me."  
  
"Dearest, who did do this? Tell me and I will  
kill them where they stand," Spike ardently vowed   
as he threaded his fingers through her singed hair.  
"Love, who did this?"  
  
Her dark eyes grew large and looked guileless.  
"Not Angel. It wasn't Angel."  
  
Dawn snapped. "Of course it wasn't Angel. Angel's   
good--"  
  
"Dawn!" Spike bit out.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Shut up." He turned back to Dru, holding her hand  
in one of his while the other remained buried in her   
hair. "Dru, dearest?"  
  
She closed her eyes. "Wasn't Angelus either. This  
was someone different. Someone new."  
  
Spike did his best to concentrate on Dru's words,  
to divine their meaning. Under the best of   
circumstances it was difficult to follow the   
weird streams and eddies of the logic behind her   
riddles, but he couldn't think straight. He was  
painfully distracted by the burns on her once  
ethereal face. If Dru was human he would have taken   
her to the hospital, but she wasn't human.   
All he could do was wait and hope that her burns   
weren't enough to finish her--that and kill the   
bugger who had done this to her.  
  
"I thought Daddy had come home." Dru looked   
as confused as a small child who had awakened from   
a nightmare but didn't know what was real and what   
was dream. "Such a pretty home, dark and dank and   
filled with death. Soldiers littered the floor   
with blood and goo. Such a pretty scene."  
  
"Yes, dearest, I understand." Spike still gripped  
her hand.  
  
"He sat there waiting for us."  
  
"Who's 'us,' Pet?"  
  
"Grandmummy. My daughter."  
  
Dawn shook her head. "She's nuts!"  
  
Spike ignored the child, and concentrated on his  
injured love. "Darla is dead, Pet. She has been for   
quite some time."  
  
Dru smiled. "I know she is. I killed her."  
  
"No, Pet. That's not how it happened."  
  
"I did kill her, Spike. I did. I held her and  
drained her and brought her back. It was glorious.   
Grandmummy came home, and we had such fun. We   
feasted on lawyers and champagne. They tasted   
fishy and salty, like caviar."  
  
"Darla?" He couldn't help but be shocked. Dru  
sometimes became confused about time, but something  
about her insistence caught him. After all Angel  
had been killed once, sent all the way to hell, and  
HE had come back. Could something similar have   
happened to Darla as well? "Are you sure, Pet?"  
  
"Oh yes. Very sure. You can see 'er too if you   
want."  
  
Never sure if Dru was gazing into this world or into  
another, Spike glanced around the room. "Is she  
here?"  
  
Dru's eyes grew huge. "Nooooo. She is in the city  
of angels...in the city OF Angel."  
  
Spike nodded. That would make sense. Darla had always   
been obsessed with Angel. She had created her own dark   
prince and had raged against the night and the gypsies   
who had cursed him with a soul, changing Angelus into   
the enormous poof Angel. If by some evil twist of fate   
Darla lived, she would be on Angel's trail.   
  
Spike's gaze sharpened and he allowed himself to see   
the pattern in Drusilla's words. Angel.   
  
"Angel did this to you." It wasn't a question.  
  
Dru shook her head. "Not Angel. Not Angelus.   
Someone different. Someone gray."  
  
"Gray?"  
  
"Not dark. Not bright. Not anything but bitter  
and cold. . .like fog in London or mist rolling in   
off the North Sea. A shadow."  
  
"Angel's shadow," Spike growled.  
  
"Not An--"  
  
"Not Angel. I heard you, Dru." Heard and begun  
piecing it together. "He's still got his soul, right?  
So he isn't Angelus. But if he decided to dirty that   
soul he wouldn't exactly be Angel either, would he?"  
  
Dru laid her hand on Spike's cheek as she nodded.  
"He sat in shadows and gave such a look. I thought   
Daddy had come home. Then he dropped his cigarette.   
Fire, Spike! Fire! Everywhere. It hurts! It burns!"  
  
Spike cradled her against his chest, rocking Dru like   
a father would a child. "It's alright, Dearest. The   
fire is gone." He caressed her cheek, and slowly she   
calmed, coming as close to sanity as she ever would.   
"The danger is over, Love," he reassured. "You're   
safe. You're with Spike now."  
  
Dru smiled. "You only hurt me when I ask you to."  
  
"That's right, Love."  
  
"I didn't want Daddy to hurt me again..." Dru   
drifted off to sleep. At least Spike hoped it was  
sleep. There was little way for him to know. She  
had no pulse or breath, but then vampires never  
did. On the other hand she was not dust so that had   
to mean something.  
  
Dawn crossed her arms. "I don't believe it."  
  
Spike was actually surprised the child was still   
there. "You heard Dru as well as I did."  
  
Dawn shook her head. "I heard her say a lot of stuff   
that didn't make sense, and I heard you blame Angel.   
Well, Angel wouldn't do that. He wouldn't set anyone   
on fire. Angel is GOOD."  
  
"Except when he's is tryin' to destroy the world."  
  
She glared at Spike. "That was Angelus not Angel!   
And it was only because of that stupid curse the   
gypsies put on him."  
  
Spike stood and approached Dawn in a menacing way  
that had sent people screaming for over a century.  
"Listen, brat," he growled. "I don't want to go over   
Angel's history in gory detail. Let's just say there's   
a lot o' stuff about the poof that you don't know   
and leave it at that."  
  
"If Angel hurt her, it's because she's evil!" Dawn  
said defiantly.  
  
Spike paused, standing half shrouded in shadow. "She  
IS evil, Niblet. I thought you knew that. Just as I   
am evil--"  
  
"You aren't evil anymore."  
  
"I see you have a lot to learn about me, and Angel,  
and what constitutes evil. But I don't have time to  
teach you. It's time for you to go home."  
  
Spike made it to the door before he glanced back to  
where Dru lay. He felt more than saw her move. But   
it reminded him that Dru could wake at any moment   
and, for a myriad of reasons, he could not leave her  
alone. Spike looked down at Dawn. "I can't go with  
you. I'll stand here at the door and keep watch until  
you make it out of the graveyard. If trouble pops up,   
I'll take care of it. But it's early yet. Most vamps   
aren't early risers."  
  
When Dawn stepped over the threshold, Spike said,  
"Wait!" He went to a chest in the corner then   
returned and handed Dawn a stake. "For luck," he   
told her then handed her a bottle of water.  
  
"What's this?" Dawn asked.  
  
"Holy water. It's come in handy a time or two in   
the past."  
  
"Uh. . .thanks. . .I guess."  
  
"Go home," he instructed abruptly.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Straight home."  
  
"Okay! I heard you the first time."  
  
Spike stood in the doorway watching the girl   
walk out of the graveyard into the relative   
safety of the street with its glowing lights.   
He didn't go inside when she left his sight. With   
his preternatural hearing Spike listened for Dawn's   
footsteps long after she had left. He wanted no   
doubt that Dawn had safely found her way home.   
When sufficient time had passed he returned to   
his crypt.  
  
He stood over Dru, watching her rest. How many  
decades had he done that? Stroked her long  
dark hair and held her slender body curled against  
his own as he breathed in her scent of vanilla,   
sandlewood and antique rose. Dru hadn't been warm,   
but she'd been a comfort, a constant, a presence he   
had not known he could live without.   
  
Sometimes it felt as if Dru was as much a part of   
him as his hand or arm. When she had left him, it   
was as if she had cut out some vital organ, leaving   
a gaping wound. His heart had almost bled dry.  
  
It had been years since Spike had watched Dru   
sleep. Years since she had left him standing   
on a street in Brazil. Dru's sudden reappearance   
after all this time frightened him. . .and he was   
not a creature that was easily frightened. It was   
just that as Dru lay there so mangled and ill used,   
Spike remembered the oath she had once made him   
swear.  
  
They had slept in a room overlooking the river Arno  
as it snaked through Florence, Italy, though when   
Dru had begged for his promise, shutters had blocked   
the view. Sunlight had bled through the slats   
permitting tiny rays of heat and danger to creep   
across the floor as they lay entangled in one  
another's bare limbs.   
  
"You'll kill me one day won't you?" Dru had asked.  
  
"What?!" He'd been shocked. "Course I won't kill you."  
  
"But you have to. There is no one else."  
  
"Love, I promise you. I will never, ever kill you."  
  
She had pouted. "So you don't love me? Not even  
a little bit?"  
  
Spike had frowned. "Bloody hell, what do you mean?"  
  
"If you don't kill me, who will? An angry mob? Some   
strange Slayer?" Dru had shaken her head. "Angelus   
killed me the first time. I didn't like it. Not at all.   
Don't want 'im killin' me again. He didn't love me."  
  
Spike had stroked her hair. "You're immortal, Dru.   
You never have to die again."  
  
She had looked at him with terrifyingly insightful  
eyes. "All things die, Spike. Even the things we  
wish wouldn't." Dru had sighed and risen from the  
tangled sheets. "If you won't kill me, I'll ask   
Darla."  
  
"No," Catching her hand, Spike had pulled Dru away  
from the burning rays of light and into the safety   
of his arms. With his fingers lightly tracing the   
smooth, alabaster skin of her shoulder he had sworn,   
"When the time comes no one will touch you but me."  
  
Dru had smiled. "You're the only one who loves me."  
  
"You know it, baby."  
  
"And you promise to kill me?"  
  
"If that's the only thing that will make you happy."  
  
Laying her palm flat against his naked chest, Dru  
had cooed, "I knew I was right to choose you." Then  
she placed her ear where her hand had been. "Such   
a strong heart you have, Spike. Sometimes I think   
I can still hear it beating. Thump. Thump. Thump.   
Steady and constant and sure. A strong heart. A good   
heart." Dru had lifted her head and smiled. "That's   
why I had to kill it."  
  
That night had been over a hundred years before this  
one, but the promise hurt Spike as much today as it   
had then...so he concentrated on watching Dru breathe.   
It was habit overcoming lack of need. It meant Dru   
wasn't dead, and if Spike had any choice in the   
matter she would stay that way.   
  
After the incident in Prague where he had saved Dru,   
he had nursed her back to health. He would do so   
again. That is what he had always done. That was   
why Angelus had allowed him to live. Angelus had   
told him that late one night on the isle   
of Capri in. . .oh. . .sometime in the late 1890s.   
  
The night had been a clear deep blue with a fat  
round moon shining almost as brightly as the sun.  
The Mediterranean had glittered beneath the white   
cliffs where he and Angelus had sat watching a  
naked and laughing Drusilla play in the surf below.   
  
"That was a stupid thing you did in Naples," Angelus  
had complained. "How many times have I told you to  
keep to the shadows? Do not attract attention to  
yourself."  
  
"I like attention," Spike had told him.  
  
"Don't I know it. Tell me, Spike, why do I let  
you live?"  
  
"Because you like easy kills and don't want to  
challenge someone who might have a shot at   
beating you." Spike had then shot his grandsire  
his most obnoxious grin.  
  
"I could take you. Make no mistake about that."  
Angelus had said it without inflection before gazing   
down to where Dru stood shimmering in the moonlight.   
"I let you live because of her. Someone has to look   
out for the mad creature, and I don't have the time   
or the inclination." He had looked at Spike. "But   
you do. That's why I allowed you to be made. That's   
why I allow you to live."  
  
And that's all Angelus had ever said on the subject.  
Not long after that Angelus had been cursed by   
the gypsies and given a soul. He had become Angel  
and disappeared from their lives. Spike hadn't   
missed him. At least he not until Dru had extracted   
her deadly promise.   
  
Spike wasn't sure how, but he had always known the   
promise had something to do with Angel. Dru had gone   
into some odd trance then looked at Spike demanding   
that he be the one to kill her. It had frightened him   
then. It frightened him now. . .because Dru knew things.   
She could see the future. It was part of what had driven   
her mad. But Spike was determined that this was one   
promise he would never have to keep.  
  
Besides, Dru hadn't killed him, had she? Well, yes,  
technically she had. She had killed William the  
Bloody on a night long ago, but he hadn't been  
thinking about that. Spike was thinking about being  
left alone on a deserted street in Brazil.  
  
He had offered his heart to Dru for the millionth   
time. "Just tell me what you want," he had begged.  
  
"I want the Slayer dead, Spike."  
  
But he couldn't do it. No matter how many times   
he had tried, he simply couldn't do it. Not her.  
Not this Slayer. Not then. Not now. Not ever.  
When Drusilla had confronted him with that fact,   
Spike had protested and rationalized, but Dru had   
seen straight through him. She always did...and  
then she had said he was ashes to her.  
  
Drusilla, the cornerstone of his existence, had   
walked away leaving him alone in the dark.   
  
Months later Spike had cried on Willow's shoulder.   
"She wouldn't even kill me!"  
  
Willow had looked shocked by his words, but Spike had   
meant them. "She just left me," he had confessed.   
"She didn't even care enough to cut off my head or   
light me on fire. Was that so much to ask? Some   
little sign that she cared?"  
  
Spike had sat with his head in his hands. "It   
was that truce with Buffy that did it. Dru said   
I'd gone soft; wasn't demon enough for the likes   
of her. I said it didn't mean anything. I was   
thinkin' o' 'er the whole time."  
  
Actually what he had said to Dru had been, "Yes,  
I made a deal with the Slayer. But you were  
shaggin' Angel AND bringing about the Apochalypse  
to end life as we know it. So? Every couple's  
got their ups and downs, Love."  
  
But Dru had ignored his pleas and left him for a   
Chaos Demon who was all brawn, slime and antlers.   
After that his life's path had become a circuitous   
one that lead him back to Sunnydale and to an   
infatuation with the Slayer that he could not seem   
to kick--though God knows he had tried.  
  
Now Dru was back. She was tired and injured and there   
had been a hint of hopelessness in her voice. . .and   
Spike couldn't help feeling that she'd come home to   
demand that he fulfill his horrific promise.  
  
Well, it wouldn't work. He'd do whatever he had to   
do to save her.  
  
PART IV  
  
Buffy held a crossbow aimed at Spike's heart.  
"Give it up, Spike. I mean it."  
  
Spike squinted and stared at the Slayer through  
one eye since his hand covered the other. He was  
also nearly doubled over in pain. "You always  
mean it, yet here I am."  
  
"Not for long. Not if you don't turn over your  
victim."  
  
"Victim?" he asked in outrage. "I don't have a  
'victim.'"  
  
"Then who is Harmony dragging by the heels?"  
  
Spike glanced down at the teenager on the ground.   
"Frat boy," he explained. "Had a few too many."  
  
Buffy tilted her head slightly to one side. "And   
you were planning to do what? Find him a taxi and   
send him home?"  
  
"Well I wasn't plannin' to eat him if that's  
what you're accusin'. I can't. You know that."  
  
"Oh yeah, the chip in your head."  
  
"That's right."  
  
"The one that causes you blinding pain when you  
try to hurt someone."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So what's wrong with your eye, Spike?"  
  
Pushing down a wave of nausea caused by blinding  
pain, Spike insisted. "I'm fine."  
  
"Uh-huh. Just out for a midnight stroll with Harmony.  
I know you can't hurt people, Spike." Buffy nodded in   
Harmony's direction. "But she can. That's why she's   
here."  
  
Harmony tapped Spike on the shoulder.   
  
"What?" he demanded angrily.  
  
"Spikey, maybe we should just drop this guy.  
Buffy's looking really mad and the trigger on  
those crossbow thingies can be really slippy."  
  
"Harmony?"  
  
"Yes, Blondie Bear?"  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "I'm going to be  
sick." She gazed up at Spike. "Blondie Bear?!"  
  
He shot Buffy a chagrinned look. "Disgustin' isn't   
it?"  
  
Harmony glanced between the two of them, and then  
began to pout. "Blondie Bear, this guy's getting  
heavy. Can't we just let him go?"  
  
Spike laughed and wrapped his arm 'affectionately'  
around Harmony's shoulder. "Go? Now why would we  
have to let the bloke go when we're only helping  
'im out. Just seein' that 'e makes it home safely.  
Friends don't let friends drive drunk and all that."  
  
Harmony frowned. "I thought we were going to eat   
him."  
  
Spike stepped back. "Harm! I'm shocked. Truly,  
deeply shocked."  
  
Buffy huffed, "Do you think I'm buying this act?"  
  
He arched a brow. "Don't know. Are you?"  
  
"No." Buffy took a step closer. "Spike, you're   
looking kind of green. Are you sure that chip   
isn't electrocuting you?"   
  
Spike frowned ferociously. "For the last time, I'm  
fine. I'm not plannin' on killin' the bugger. If I was,   
I'd be rolling around on the ground screamin'."   
Actually, killing HAD been the original plan. But  
every time Spike had allowed himself to think about   
it, he had found himself on the floor writhing in pain.   
It had only become manageable pain when he'd decided   
that somehow, some way he would prevent Dru from   
bleeding the victim dry.   
  
Buffy seemed to understand the way his mind worked,  
or at least the way the chip worked. "You plan on   
bleeding him, but not killing him," she intuited.   
  
Spike sighed. "Yeah." He tentatively opened his eye   
and found that he could see. In fact his headache had   
all but disappeared. "See. It's all harmless really.   
No need to pull out the stake and crossbow."  
  
Buffy circled him. "This wouldn't have anything to   
do with your houseguest would it?"  
  
"Houseguest?"  
  
"Dawn told me."  
  
"Bloody hell," he cursed. "Isn't that a fine   
kettle of fish. Well you can just forget whatever   
li'l sis told you." He started to walk away.  
  
"Spike, you can't keep her," Buffy told him.  
  
He faced the Slayer with bubbling outrage. "Keep her?   
What do you think Dru is? A bleedin' poodle?"  
  
Buffy lowered her crossbow and with a warning  
glance in Harmony's direction she crossed the grass  
to where Spike stood. "If Drusilla was a poodle  
I'd let you keep her."   
  
"This Slayer thing is really goin' to your head.  
You don't tell me what to do."  
  
"Then consider it a 'friendly' warning. I let you   
live--"  
  
"Because you can't beat me and you know it,"  
Spike snapped.  
  
Buffy began again, "I let you live because you  
aren't hurting people in Sunnydale." She glanced  
over her shoulder. "And I let Harmony live because  
she's too stupid to cause much trouble. But Drusilla?  
She's a homicidal maniac."  
  
"She's misunderstood," he defended.  
  
"She's insane, Spike."  
  
"Yeah well, everyone's got flaws. Look at your   
Captain Cardboard."  
  
Buffy's gaze narrowed. "Don't bring Riley into  
this."  
  
"Why not? That's what this is about isn't it?  
I take away your boy toy, and now you're threatenin'   
to stake my Dru."  
  
Buffy flushed. "You didn't take Riley. You  
didn't do anything with him."  
  
"No, I didn't, did I? Wouldn't know that from the   
way you've been actin' though." Having gained   
the upper hand Spike began to circle the Slayer.   
"I didn't send him on those midnight jaunts to   
the trulls. That was him and him alone. He was   
the one what betrayed you, so why am I the one payin'   
the price? Killin' the messenger is what you're   
doin'."  
  
"I haven't killed the messenger YET," Buffy warned.  
"Besides it was you, not Riley, who got off on   
hurting me."  
  
Spike frowned in confusion. "Is that what you   
think? No, don't answer. I can see that's what  
you think. The fact is, no. I didn't show you  
what the pathetic sod was doin' just to hurt you.   
Not to hurt you at all, actually. Maybe to hurt   
'im a little, but not you."  
  
"Right," she scoffed. "Tell that to someone  
who's buying."  
  
"It's the bleedin' truth, Slayer. I found out  
about 'im leavin' your bed and shackin' up   
the rest of the night--several nights actually--   
with some vampire trull and for some reason I   
thought you might like to know about it. I didn't   
take the farm boy from you. This was him screwin'   
up a good thing."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "It isn't Riley's fault."  
  
"Phfaw! Course it is."  
  
"No," she insisted. "It's mine. I pushed   
him away. I didn't give enough. I...I..."  
  
"Had a real mind screw played on you. Who sold you   
this drivel about it bein' your fault?"  
  
"No one!"  
  
"Bet it was Soldier Boy. Must've been a good li'l  
speech to convince you that his infidelity is your  
fault."  
  
"It wasn't like that!"   
  
"Wasn't it? Let me guess, he was goin' to 'er because   
she was gave him somethin' you wouldn't or couldn't.  
If only you gave just a little bit more, paid   
just a bit more attention, not been stronger than   
him, or more interesting than him, or the Slayer, then  
he wouldn't have strayed."   
  
Spike shook his head in disgust. He grabbed Buffy  
by the shoulders and for once she didn't shake him off.   
"Let's get one thing straight, Slayer. Soldier Boy's   
choices were HIS choices. His peccadilloes weren't   
your fault. They weren't my fault either. He's a big   
boy, and he made his own mistakes. He's responsible--  
him and no one else."   
  
Spike bent a little so that the two of them stood nose   
to nose. "Now, do we have that straightened out once   
and for all?"  
  
Spike thought he saw a hint of tears in Buffy's   
eyes as she nodded.   
  
"Right then." He straightened. "Time to go."  
  
He was no more than three steps away when Buffy   
said, "You still can't keep her."  
  
"Bloody hell! Are we back to Dru again? Thought   
we got that straight. I didn't take your boy and   
you can't take my girl."  
  
Buffy climbed the small knoll where Spike stood.   
"Do you know why she's here?"  
  
"She's here because Angel set 'er on fire."  
  
Buffy blinked and staggered backwards. Spike caught  
Buffy before she tumbled down the hill.  
  
Spike looked at her curiously. "Didn't know about   
that, did you?" He let Buffy go when she had   
regained her balance then shoved his hands into   
his pockets.  
  
Buffy didn't back down. "Dru killed half a law   
firm in LA."  
  
Spike shrugged. "So she's done 'er good deed for   
the decade."  
  
"This is serious, Spike. She has to be put down."  
  
Fury lit within him. "She's not a soddin' dog!   
She's hurt and scared, and she's come here for   
my protection. And Slayer or no Slayer, that's   
exactly what she's going to get."  
  
"You can't fight me, Spike."  
  
"The hell I can't. I don't care if it splits  
my noggin' in two. You harm one hair on my Dru's  
head, and I'll add one more Slayer to my list of  
kills."  
  
Buffy caught her breath.  
  
"Um. . .hey, guys!" Harmony called. "This guy's  
getting awfully heavy, and I think he's waking   
up. Ohmigod! I think he's going to puke!"   
  
And he promptly did.  
  
"Ew! Gross!" Harmony whined and dropped the kid.   
Obviously the frat boy had regained his senses   
enough to know that a graveyard in Sunnydale was   
a dangerous place to be. He scrambled to his   
feet and ran away without a backward glance.  
  
Spike huffed and glared at Buffy. "See what you   
did. You ruined Dru's dinner."  
  
"No, I didn't," Buffy corrected. "You decided a   
few minutes ago to let the guy go."  
  
Spike crossed his arms. "And how do you pretend  
to know that?"  
  
"Because your headache went away." She walked   
down the hill then glanced up at him. "I mean   
it, Spike. Get Dru out of town or I'll stake her."  
  
"Spikey!" Harmony called. "The human ran away!"  
  
"I noticed that, Harm."  
  
"Are we going to have to catch another one?"   
  
"Why do you ask that?"  
  
"Because one's standing right here."  
  
"Xander!" Buffy cried, but Xander didn't seem   
to hear her. He appeared to be busy glaring at   
Harmony.  
  
"What?" Xander demanded, looking offended. "I'm  
just any old human now? Harmony, we went to   
high school together."  
  
"Yeah, well, but I never liked you," Harmony said.  
  
"Well, I never liked you either, but I know your  
name."  
  
Harmony tossed her lustrous blonde hair over  
her shoulder. "Well of course you knew me.   
Everyone knew me. That doesn't mean I have to   
acknowledge you. You're beneath me."  
  
"Harm!" Spike bit out harshly. "If you know  
what's good for you, you will shut the hell up."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Buffy raised her crossbow. "Because I might kill  
you for insulting my friend."  
  
Harmony's jaw fell, and she turned pleading blue  
eyes toward Spike. "Blondie Bear, won't you help  
me?"  
  
Xander mouthed, "Blondie Bear?"  
  
Buffy nodded. "Sick isn't it."  
  
Spike gazed dispassionately at his sometimes lover.  
"You've dug your own grave, Harm."  
  
"Blondie Bear!" she cried. "You're being mean  
again."  
  
Spike closed his eyes and worked very hard to  
control his frustration. "Harm, apologize to  
Xander and maybe the Slayer will let you live."  
  
"Apologize?" Harm asked in disbelief. "To him?!"  
  
"Harm." Spike's patience was running out. He   
started to wonder if he could borrow Buffy's   
crossbow.  
  
"Alright, alright, Spikey." She turned to Xander.  
"I'm sorry for. . .well whatever it is you think  
I should be sorry for, though I'm not sure what  
that's supposed to be."  
  
Xander frowned. "That's an apology?"  
  
"Best one you're going to get, mate," Spike   
warned.  
  
"Why?" Xander questioned. "Because she's a vampire?"  
  
"No, because she's a conceited, air headed bint."  
  
"Oh."   
  
"Blondie Bear," Harmony called plaintively. "Mean   
again."  
  
"Well at least you took the time and energy to   
notice," Spike muttered as he made his way down  
the hill to where the others stood.  
  
Buffy asked Xander, "What are you doing here?"  
  
Xander raked his hand through his hair. "Oh, I   
forgot. No one can find Dawn. I thought you should   
know."  
  
"She ran away?" Buffy looked worried.  
  
"Well, not so much," Xander clarified. "She's just   
missing at the moment. No reason to think she won't   
be back. She left a note. Something about fixing   
something she broke."  
  
Spike looked back at the cemetery with its statues  
and headstones. "Bloody hell," he groaned and   
started to run.  
  
Buffy was on Spike's heels when he made it to the   
clearing in front of his crypt. Xander had been   
left behind. There was no way he could possibly   
keep pace with the inhuman speed of vampire or   
Slayer. Buffy came to a halt beside Spike, and he   
knew without her saying a word that she was   
horrified by the sight that greeted them.  
  
Dru stood with her arms wrapped around Dawn as   
Dawn struggled in vain to get away. Dru might  
be weak, but she was still a vampire.  
  
Dru looked directly at Spike, "This unnatural   
thing lurked outside my door."  
  
"Ugh!" Dawn grunted as she struggled. "Again, I'm  
human. You're a vampire. Who's the unnatural one   
here?"  
  
"She sizzles in my arms, Spike. Like lightening  
in a storm." Dru looked at him in confusion. "It   
isn't right."  
  
He approached Dru cautiously. "Then why not let  
her go, Pet?"  
  
"But I wanted to know what lightening tastes like.  
You wouldn't deny me what I want would you? You  
swore you wouldn't. You swore on your grave."  
  
"My grave's been lonely since you've been gone,"  
He murmured in soft, loverlike tones. "Let her go   
and we'll go inside to be reacquainted."  
  
"Lonely, huh?" Harmony scoffed. "What am I?   
Chopped liver?"  
  
Spike turned on Harm ferociously. "Very possibly,  
if you don't shut your trap."  
  
"Blondie Bear?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I don't like the way you've been talking to me  
tonight. I don't like it one bit, and if you  
don't stop talking all mean and grumpy, I'm going  
to go home."  
  
"And here I thought there might not be a God."  
  
Harmony's lower lip jutted forward. "You aren't   
my boyfriend any more. Not even a little bit.   
And that means no sex. Not unless you ask very,   
very nicely."  
  
He caught Harmony's arm. "Hey, Dru, I've got   
an idea. You give me Dawn there, and I'll let  
you eat Harm."  
  
"Don't want Harm," Dru protested. "Vampires   
stick in my teeth." Dru cocked her head to the   
side. "Might kill her though. She hasn't been a   
good vampire. Not good at all."   
  
Dru's dark gaze narrowed, and Harmony began to   
shake with real fear as she shrank behind Spike.   
  
"Blondie Bear..." Harm cried piteously.  
  
Drusilla's normally tranquil visage took on  
an angry cast. "He's MINE!" She bit out harshly.  
"I chose him. I made him. He belongs to me. I  
picked him out extra special, and you can't have   
him." Dru turned on Buffy. "Nor you either.   
I see you standing there in the light saying you   
don't but you do. Say it's not so, but you can't  
change what's true. All the little daggers that  
shoot from your eyes. They cut him and prick  
him, but he isn't yours to hurt. He's mine."  
  
"Got to love a possessive woman," Xander said  
as he gasped for breath, having finally made it  
to the clearing after the dash across the   
graveyard. "What did I miss?"  
  
"Dorcas is trying to kill me," Harmony announced.  
  
"Oh really? Why's that?"  
  
"Because I stole Blondie Bear from her."  
  
Xander frowned. "Was that before or after  
she dumped him for a Chaos Demon in Brazil?"  
  
Spike turned and glared at all of them.  
  
Xander lifted his hands plaintively. "Hey,  
I'm just saying--"  
  
Spike faced Dru. "How about Xander? He's   
not a vampire. You could eat him."  
  
"Hey!" Xander protested. "If I'm dead who are you  
going to beat at pool? Without me you'd lose a  
hefty chunk of your cash flow."  
  
"Right. Dru, ignore Xander."   
  
But she didn't. Her eyes became hazy and deep  
as they often did when she looked into that  
other, distant world. "You have a good heart."  
  
Xander smiled. "Yeah, I know. I was the heart  
of the super slayer last year."  
  
"Slayer!" Dru hissed.  
  
"But I can see where you might not like that,"  
Xander rushed to say. "Forget I said it."   
  
"I always do." Dru gazed dreamily at Xander.   
"Would you kill me?"  
  
"Pet!" Spike cried. "You don't mean that."  
  
"Well you won't do it!" she accused petulantly.  
  
"But I will." Buffy raised her crossbow.  
  
Spike stepped between the two women. "You would  
have to go through me first, Slayer."  
  
"Don't think I wouldn't."  
  
"Don't think you could."  
  
"They're posturing again," Xander explained to   
Harmony, Dawn, and Dru. "They like to do this a   
couple times a week. Nothing ever comes of it   
though."   
  
"Shut up, Xander," Buffy and Spike said in unison.  
  
"Okay, but...um... before I do can I mention  
just one thing?"  
  
Buffy sighed. "Just one."  
  
"I think Dru's about to kill Dawn."  
  
Spike spun around crying, "Dru, no!"  
  
Dru gazed at him with tears in her hopeless eyes.  
"I have to or you won't keep your promise." A  
single tear coursed down her cheek. "I'm tired,  
Spike. And the voices don't stop any more. I drift  
for days and don't know where I am. There's no  
reason for this. None at all. Not now."  
  
Spike searched in vain for something to say, some  
words to pierce her melancholy. He drew a blank  
but had to say something. "What's so different  
today than yesterday or the day that came before   
that? The burns will go away, Pet."  
  
She shook her head. "Some scars heal, others don't."  
  
"These scars will. They're almost healed now. You'll  
be good as new, Pet. Everything will be just like it  
was before."  
  
"No, it won't," Dru insisted. "I told you. The  
shadow!"  
  
"Angel?" Spike took a cautious step toward Dru. "You  
don't have to worry about Angel here." Then glancing  
at Buffy he amended, "But if you do, we don't have   
to stay here. I can take you to see the world again."  
  
"Seen the world. Seen too much of it. Don't want it  
any more. There's no point in it."  
  
"Because of what Angel did to you?" Spike asked in  
disbelief as three lifetimes of resentment of the older   
vampire bubbled to the surface. "If it's revenge you   
want, I'll be glad to exact it." And suddenly Spike  
became very aware of the crossbow trained at his   
back. Until now, Buffy's threats had been idle.   
Over the years, Buffy had more than ample opportunity  
to kill him, just as he'd had more than one shot  
at killing her. . .yet here they both stood. Unharmed.  
But if he threatened Angel? Yeah, Buffy would  
stake him over that.   
  
Dru gave Spike a sad, sweet smile. "You can't get  
my revenge. Not after all these years."  
  
All these years? Spike shook his head thinking he  
hadn't heard her correctly. "This isn't about what  
happened in LA?"  
  
"Angel wasn't in the city of angels. I told you.  
There was only icy fog where he used to be. He  
did not care." Again her eyes filled with tears.   
"He saw all the pretty lawyers about to die and did   
not care!"  
  
Buffy gasped. "No. That can't be true."  
  
Dru turned her dreamily bewildered eyes toward the  
Slayer. It was probably the first time these two  
such starkly different creatures shared the same  
expression--shock, horror and confusion.   
  
Dru's head tilted to the side as she talked quietly,   
intimately to Buffy. "It isn't Angel is it? Angel  
would not walk away. But he did. Why did he? He  
stood at the top of the stairs. Grandmummy said they  
would die, all the pretty men and women in suits  
full of wine and money. Angel would not walk away.  
He would never walk away, but HE did. Vile creature.  
HE said he did not care. Angel would have cared."  
Dru turned back to Spike asking in a lost voice. "He   
did not care! How can there be revenge on such a   
creature? How?"  
  
Now Buffy sounded almost as lost Dru. "Angelus?"  
  
"No!" Drusilla cried. "Not Angelus. I know Angelus  
well." Her hands slipped around Dawn, moving upward  
in a slow path until she covered the young girl's  
ears. "He came to me long ago."   
  
Spike saw the tell tale signs, the swaying tempo of   
Dru's body, and the vague look in her eyes, that said  
that Dru was lost to them. She was somewhere in the far   
distant past or in the not too distant future. She   
chanted, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has   
been two days since my last confession. . ."  
  
"More like two days and a century and a half," Buffy  
said under her breath. Spike didn't think the Slayer  
meant to be heard, but he heard her all the same.  
  
Dru's voice became choked and tearful, and her words   
were full of fear. "I've been seeing again, Father.   
Didn't try to, I swear! But yesterday the men   
were going to work in the mine and I had a terrible   
fright, my stomach tied all in knots and I saw a   
horrible crash, men screaming in the dark. . .my mum   
said to keep my peace, it didn't mean nothing. . ."  
  
"Love," Spike said soothingly as he stealthily   
drew near. "This was all very long ago, before even I   
was born. Don't go dredging up past uglies. Don't   
torture yourself so."  
  
But Drusilla was lost somewhere in her dark, horrible  
past. Tears filled her eyes. "My mum says I'm cursed.   
My seeing things is an affront to God. That only   
He is supposed to see anything before it happens. But   
I don't mean to, Father, I swear. I try to be pure in   
His sight, and I do my penance. I don't want to be an   
evil thing."  
  
"Talk about a family dysfunction junction," Xander  
whispered into the dark. "Makes my mom sound like  
mother of the year."  
  
Dru didn't seem to hear. She heard another voice,  
a darker one. . .an evil one. "Please, do not call  
me a devil. I'm not a spawn of Satan! I'm not!  
I want to be good! I want to be pure!"  
  
Xander frowned. "I'm confused, was it her mother  
or the priest calling her that?"  
  
Spike gave the younger man a dark look before  
growling, "Neither."   
  
"Help me!" Drusilla cried. "Oh please, help me!  
He comes for me. Oh God! Dear God. PLEASE!"  
  
Xander shook his head. "I still don't get it.  
Who's she talking about? Who told her these things?  
Who scared the bejesus out of her?"  
  
Spike's gaze as it settled on Xander was pitiless,   
and exasperated. "Who do you think? Angel."  
  
Dru's insane reverie continued unabated. "It's  
dark? How did it become so dark? And there is  
blood, so much blood. Papa went first, then my mum.   
One by one he took them all. Mother. Father. Sisters   
three. He pushed me to the side. Watch he told me.  
Oh God, my family. They scream. They scream   
before they die. They scream as they do. They're   
scream now. When will they stop screaming? Stop   
screaming!" she commanded in rising hysteria. "I   
tell you to stop screaming!"  
  
Pain welled inside Spike. Pain for his tortured,   
demented Dru. "Please, Pet, come to the present. The   
past will only hurt you." Or destroy you, he thought.   
Destroy all that was left of you when Angelus was done.  
  
Dru shook her head in bewilderment. "Why didn't he   
kill me? He could have killed me." Dru's piercing   
gaze pinned Buffy. "He did not kill me. Why? Why   
make me watch then leave me in a pool of blood so   
dark. . .it was almost black. . .so I added my own.   
A kitchen knife across my throat. Whack. Whack.   
Kindest cut was my own."  
  
Buffy shuddered as Dru looked into unseen faces and  
cried, "No, Sisters. I cannot be saved. I do not   
want to be. Can't you see? They all died. Died   
for no cause but me. Kill me and mayhap you'll  
be spared."  
  
Dru sank onto the ground pulling Dawn down with her.   
Dawn's face twisted in terror as she began to struggle.   
She should struggle, Spike thought. Dru was out of   
control and unless this nightmare was brought to a   
swift end, Drusilla might kill Niblet in a fit of   
madness.  
  
Dru began to rock, almost as if she meant to comfort  
not only herself but the horrified Dawn. "Sisters of   
Mercy, don't you see?" Dru wailed. "He had none. Not   
pity. Nor kindness neither. There is no grace or   
peace. Not heaven--just hell. Hell for the likes of me.  
Sisters, please!"   
  
Silence overtook the graveyard. Spike, Xander, Buffy  
and Harmony did not move or make a sound They stood  
transfixed by the horror of Dru's agonized screams.   
"Black and white and red! Against the wall and on the   
floor. All around me, falling one by one 'till there  
are no more. . .and no me either."  
  
"He comes again!" Dru sobbed. "He will not be denied.  
Sisters pay for mercy with life and blood. They lie  
like dust beneath his feet. Crunch beneath his toes  
making blood like wine."   
  
Dru laughed hysterically, a sobbing laugh full of   
defiance and misery. "I would not see. I won. I was   
no longer there. I fly in stars and hide in clouds. I   
was not there when he brought grandmother to see. I was   
not there when his cravat fell to the floor, followed by   
shirt and trousers too. I was not there as he fell over   
me, taking soul and virtue. I was not there!"   
  
Buffy looked sick.   
  
Dru looked destroyed.   
  
"Kill me! For pity's sake, kill me!" Dru screamed.   
"But he would not let me go. He would not let me die."  
Her face transformed to vampire and insistence entered   
her crying tone. "Hurt me then. Make me suffer for   
surviving when all I loved did not. Pain and punishment   
are all that make life worthwhile."  
  
Dru didn't sound like herself, Spike thought. There was   
too much logic in what she said...though it was tortured   
logic at best.  
  
"Angelus hurt me. Called me evil and vile." Dru   
smiled her sad, ghastly smile. "I lived to be   
punished and Angelus did it best."  
  
Without conscious volition, Spike found his gaze   
drifting toward the Slayer. There was a green cast   
to Buffy's face as shock and disgust colored her   
eyes. Her expression was similar, but in some ways   
worse, than the one Spike had seen on her face when  
he had exposed Riley Finn's betrayal.   
  
Spike realized that he was doing it again, showing   
Buffy things she would rather not see, things that   
perhaps she should never have known. He tore away   
a veil of trust and hope and showed her the ugly   
truths that lay beneath. He wished he could be   
someone else, someone who didn't find himself   
shoving truths in her face saying, "See! This   
is what happens around you when you do not look!  
These are the things you do not know." He could  
lie to within a inch of his unlife, so why did he   
keep bringing the truth to this one girl? Why could   
he not stop himself? Why did he do these things when   
it only brought pain to her eyes and disgust to her   
face when she looked at him? What was it he so badly   
wanted Buffy to see?  
  
"If you could only see me," a voice spoke to Spike  
from the past. William's voice. . .his OWN voice  
so long denied.  
  
Bollocks. What was he doin' moonin' over the Slayer   
when Dru was cryin' out in pain and the Slayer stood   
with a stake ready impale his heart? In the past   
the choice had been simple. Bloody hell, there had   
been no choice at all. Kill the Slayer, drag Dru   
into his arms and off they would go to make a merry   
hell elsewhere. . .but those days were dead or dying.   
Choices came harder now. At some point the lines   
between right and wrong, love and desire had blurred   
to the point that Spike no longer knew where one ended  
and the other began. He couldn't decide where in   
the spectrum he stood. . .except that he stood between   
these two women that he loved but who did not love him.  
  
Dru was sobbing now. "Daddy went away. Angelus  
was gone." She looked up imploringly. "How could I   
live without Daddy to hurt me?"  
  
Abruptly Dru's tears stopped and her face lit with   
madly fierce glee. She began to laugh, a loud,  
unfettered, wild laugh that sent chills down  
Spike's spine as Dawn looked up at him with  
abject terror in her young eyes. Spike frowned.  
Dawn should be terrified. Dru was beyond reason  
or sanity. She was disintegrating before their eyes.  
  
"Angel!" Dru cackled. "Oh he suffers so. What  
wonderful vengeance. What beautiful pain. I am  
thorn in his side, memory he cannot forget. I'm  
am the face of horrors HE created. I am the evil   
he made but cannot bring himself to stop. Isn't  
it wonderful? Isn't it grand? Oh how he turns  
away. The shame of it tears him down. I am the   
blood of my mother, and father and sisters three   
crying for vengeance from beyond the grave. I am the   
specter bathed in the blood of the Sisters of Mercy   
who found none in him. What a perfect picture. What   
a fitting end."  
  
Dru tilted her head to the side, Dawn's fagile  
skull still clasped in her unnaturally strong hands.  
  
"Only it was not the end," Dru said in confusion. "He   
sat in the dark, in the city of angels, but Angel was   
not there, not Angelus neither. He was dark and cold   
and did not care. I look in his eyes. Nothing is   
there. Not pain or grief or guilt. Not punishment   
or admonition. Nothing. There's nothing left for me   
to do."  
  
Her gaze drifted toward Spike. "Nothing but you."  
  
Spike could hear Buffy's quickly indrawn breath.  
  
Dru looked up at the stars. "Sisters of Mercy said God   
protects. God has mercy. He has pity on our souls."  
She frowned. "Pity on our souls but nothing else?"   
  
With sudden, unprecedented clarity Dru looked directly   
at Spike, really looked at him. Maybe for the first time,  
maybe for the only time in all their years together Dru  
seemed to see him without a cobweb of dreams and nightmares.   
"We lost our souls for no crime," she cried to him. "We   
did no wrong--save to have hearts we could not defend. He   
broke me, and I stole you. Your heart gleamed in darkness.   
It was bright and true. I wanted it for my own. . .to   
replace all that I had lost."   
  
Crystalline tears coursed down Dru's pale, gaunt cheeks.   
"You were gentle. Kind and good. You offered love even   
where it was not wanted...but I wanted. I wanted so   
badly...I needed too."  
  
Dru's eyes drifted closed, shielding her torment from  
prying eyes though her tears still gave testament  
to more grief than any creature should bear.   
  
Dru said with quiet, terrifying sanity. "I stole you   
with promises that were not true. I took you from   
light to this hell. I cursed you because you alone   
had heart enough to love me."  
  
Spike ached to touch her, to comfort Dru. To brush  
away her tears and place a tender kiss on her brow.  
Dru's lashes lifted and by the look in her eyes, Spike  
was aware that Dru knew exactly what he was feeling.  
She knew every word he would say before he could   
even think to say it. She knew. His past. His   
present, and his future. . . She knew.  
  
"I'm sorry," Dru cried. "If I knew mercy I would give   
it to you. If I could find saving grace, it would be   
yours. Even now, in darkness your heart has some light. I   
hear the echo of its beating. A hundred and score years   
gone and still it lives. It mocks me, making my curse   
complete. The only one to love me, I cursed to a death   
without love. . .or mercy. Alone and in the dark, forever  
shunned by the light you sought." With shoulders slumped,   
no longer defiant and proud . . .or even remotely mad,   
Dru looked to Buffy. "I fled thinking one more rich in   
hope could lead the way to grace. But there is no mercy.   
There is no reprieve. A curse once given cannot be  
wished away. God turns a blind eye when old, dark hearts   
shatter like glass."   
  
Dru gazed sorrowfully at Spike, tears once again brimming  
in her eyes then spilling over. "God has pity on our   
souls," she told him. "But nothing else."   
  
And he saw the moment. He knew the decision was made.  
Dru released her last lingering tie to sanity and  
gave way to the voices, the pain and the madness within   
as she brutally pushed against the fragile bones of   
Dawn's skull.  
  
"No!" Spike could not allow this to happen. He could  
not allow this nightmare to be. He lunged forward and   
yelled in blistering pain as something pierced his back,   
tearing through his skin and muscle and bone.   
  
Buffy had staked him!  
  
"Slayer!" he roared, looking in disbelief at the   
viciously sharp wooden stake protruding from   
his chest just below his collar bone. She had missed  
his heart by inches.  
  
"I SAID crossbows could be slippy," Harmony crowed.  
  
Spike's gaze locked with Buffy's. He knew just where  
he stood--BETWEEN Buffy and Dru. He hadn't been the   
target. She had meant to kill Dru.  
  
Fury lit inside him. It could not be contained. A   
word ripped through him, tearing at his vocal chords   
as it willed itself to life. "No!"   
  
In pain and fury and encroaching despair, Spike pulled   
the stake THROUGH his shoulder, unaware that his agony   
transformed his face into that of a demon. "I warned you,   
Slayer. I will NEVER allow you to hurt my Dru."  
  
But Buffy didn't waver. She didn't bend. "Then I'll   
kill you, Spike. I won't let her murder my sister."  
  
Spike looked for any hesitation or doubt in Buffy's  
gaze. There was none. She spoke only the truth.  
Buffy would not, could not allow her sister to be  
killed, and part of Spike knew that he could not ask   
it of her. . .just as he could not allow her to hurt   
Dru.  
  
This was hell then. Spike had spent a hundred years   
avoiding it, but here he stood, trapped between two   
women he loved.   
  
Two more diametrically opposed creatures could not   
be imagined--ethereal Dru, full of dreams and nightmares,   
childlike after a hundred and sixty years of living, and   
the strong and vibrant Buffy, so burdened by   
responsibility that he feared she would grow old before   
her time...if she was allowed to grow old at all.   
  
Spike hurt for them both. Grieved for them too, for all  
either would appreciate it. Both beauties were   
sirens luring him to his terrible fate. One love mired   
in madness and death no matter how he tried to save her  
. . .and another who would not accept his heart if he   
offered it up on a silver platter.   
  
Neither woman was his, or would be his, or COULD be his.   
  
Spike was alone, as he had been all along. As he would  
always be. He was cursed after all. . .and Spike   
realized now, some things would ALWAYS be beyond his   
reach. Some things were never meant to be, though his   
heart tried in vain to will itself back to life, to   
pursue lost dreams of love. Only there were things that   
could not be had for the asking.   
  
And as he looked at Dru holding an innocent girl's life   
in her hands, Spike knew that some things could never be   
denied.  
  
Dru nodded. The time had come. Spike couldn't explain   
it. How had a choice have been made when he was so   
unwilling to make it? If he had found it impossible   
to choose who to love. . .how could he have chosen   
who to kill?  
  
Dru sighed. It was neither happy or sad, just deep   
and perhaps. . .well, Spike could be wrong but it was   
like a the last sigh of life he had heard on so many   
victims' lips. The last breath given when one knew   
there would be no more. It was surrender...or peace.   
  
A slight Mona Lisa like smile drifted across Dru's pale   
but beautiful face. Dru looked human again, and   
her scars were almost completely gone--not that Spike   
had ever really noticed them anyway. She was beautiful.   
As beautiful as she must have been as a young, innocent   
girl, before nightmares and demons had come to claim her.  
  
"The end," Dru said in a soft voice and closed   
her eyes...and began tightening her fingers   
around Dawn's skull.  
  
Dawn began to scream in terror and in pain. The child's   
cries pierced the night causing birds in the trees above   
them to flutter and take flight in a whoosh of air  
and chaos.  
  
Buffy raised her crossbow, but hesitated. Spike still   
stood between her and her target, between her and her   
sister's life.   
  
Dawn's screams rose in pitch becoming high and thin and  
heartbreaking. "Oh God!" she cried.  
  
And Dru bent close to Dawn's ears whispering just  
loudly enough for only Dawn and Spike to hear. "God  
doesn't want you, unnatural thing." And Dru's hands   
tightened and began to twist Dawn's head. . .she  
was going to break the child's neck.  
  
Dawn's wail split the air.  
  
"Dru, no!" Spike dove forward, impaling Dru with the   
stake covered in his own blood.  
  
For an instant--a fraction of a second-- Dru's gaze   
met Spike's, and she smiled... then disintegrated in his   
hands.  
  
"Dru no!" he cried. "No!" Dust fell through his   
fingertips. "No, no, no. Please come back. You   
must come back. Dru!" He sounded like a wounded  
animal as he buried his face in his hands, hands   
covered in the dust of the woman who had seduced his   
heart and soul. The woman he had followed to the ends   
of the earth, to death and beyond. The woman he was   
not sure he could live without. "Dru. . ."  
  
Buffy took a hesitant step forward, but Spike lifted  
his hand as if to ward her off. "Slayer," he growled.  
"Leave me be. Leave US be." He fell to his   
knees. His head was bowed as he moaned, "Just leave."  
  
Dawn lay on the ground looking up at Spike with huge  
innocent eyes. He offered the child his hand, and   
drew her to her feet. When Dawn would have spoken,  
Spike shook his head. "Just go, Niblet."  
  
Dawn didn't move for a long moment, she just dropped   
her hand on his shoulder. He could have wept over that   
small, simple gesture if he was not already silently  
weeping from heartrending grief. Spike gave Dawn a   
nod of acknowledgment so that she could throw herself   
into her older sister's arms, sobbing out her pain and   
fears as Spike could not allow himself to do.   
  
Buffy held Dawn, her hand gently at the back  
of sister's head, the other around Dawn's trembling  
shoulders...but Buffy's gaze remained on Spike. He knew   
it. He felt it. And he returned the look--whatever  
it was. It could have been empathy. . .or loathing.  
Resentment, or the silent communication of two  
creatures who knew what it was like to kill what you   
loved best in all the world. Whatever it was, it was   
there and then it was over.   
  
Picking up her crossbow-- and mercifully grabbing  
Harmony across the mouth--Buffy, her friend and her   
sister disappeared into the night leaving Spike   
alone--terribly alone--in his own unremitting  
darkness.   
  
  
PART IV  
  
The graveyard was quiet and the moon was full as  
Buffy moved through it. There wasn't much action   
tonight, which meant she should probably patrol  
somewhere else. . . but she didn't. He was here.  
Buffy looked up to the top of the crypt where Spike  
silently sat.  
  
If Spike was someone else, Buffy might think she was  
worried about him. Worried that he was spending too  
much time brooding when it wasn't in his nature to   
brood. Worried that he might do something rash  
like try to stake himself again or perhaps simply  
sit on the roof of his crypt until the sun rose.  
But she wasn't worried, Buffy told herself. She  
was irritated. Irritated because she was here  
patrolling a graveyard that didn't really need  
patrolling because Spike had pretty much staked  
claim to it (no pun intended). Most vamps were  
wise enough not to cross him.   
  
Buffy was irritated that she'd been by his crypt   
every night this week, and Spike hadn't looked at   
her even to insult her--not even to tell her that   
her hair looked stupid.  
  
Okay! So she was worried. Sue her. She had  
gotten rather used to their verbal battles and  
when they weren't having them, things just seemed  
. . . seemed. . .not right. Her world was off  
kilter somehow.  
  
"I'm sick of you ignoring me." Buffy was shocked  
to hear her own voice. Had she really meant to  
say that out loud?  
  
"Not ignorin' you," Spike answered but it was a  
listless answer. "Just don't feel like playin'  
some bloody game with you is all."  
  
"You're brooding."  
  
His brows drew down sharply over his eyes. "Am  
not. Take that back. I do NOT brood."  
  
"Could've fooled me."  
  
"Look, Slayer," he growled. "Your eyesight  
must be goin' bad. You got the wrong vampire.  
This vamp doesn't brood."  
  
"Then prove it."  
  
He crossed his arms. "Don't need t'. I'm  
sulkin' not broodin'. Not the same thing at all."  
  
Buffy found herself frowning as she climbed up  
to the roof of his crypt. "You're sure it's just  
sulking?" Damn, was that worry in her voice? Concern?  
If she was becoming concerned about Spike...well just  
stake her now.  
  
Spike glared at her. "Are you here just to irritate  
me?"  
  
Buffy had to smile. "Looks like."  
  
"Well you're doin' a bloody good job of it."  
  
Then they both fell into silence, looking up at the  
big, fat moon that hung low in the sky.  
  
Buffy sighed. "I wish I could say I was sorry she  
was dead. I wish. . ."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, Slayer. Don't feel like you have to  
make the right noises. You Slayer. Me vampire.  
Dru vampire. I know the drill. Let's not pretend  
it was anything different."  
  
It was different though. Maybe she had never really  
wanted to acknowledge it, but in the weeks since  
Dru's death it had slowly come to Buffy that somehow  
this was different.  
  
Night after night she went on patrol, staking vampires  
when they crossed her path. It's what Buffy did, and  
she did it remorselessly for the most part. They were  
creatures she didn't know and didn't care to know, but  
Spike, Dru and Angel were different.   
  
How many vampires had she crossed? Hundreds. And how   
many did she know their human faces? Not many. Not many  
at all, but in the years Buffy had known Angel,   
Spike, and Dru, it was their human face that she  
knew best of all. Only rarely did they show the other.   
Perhaps there was some logical explanation she didn't  
know. They all belonged to the same blood line, they   
were "related" in a way. Maybe it was a peculiarity   
of their clan, something that set them apart from the   
others. . .or maybe Buffy was just grasping at straws  
because once she allowed herself to look beyond the   
demon curse to see the lost souls beneath, the world   
would become a darker place, a place where the lines  
between right and wrong, good and evil would become  
far less clear.  
  
Unwillingly, Buffy allowed herself to look into Spike's   
face, to really look, to really SEE him. He was handsome.   
The aquiline lines and planes of his features could have  
been sculpted by an artist as an astonishing example  
of stark male beauty. There was an aura about him   
suggesting energy, passion, and an irrepressible  
nature...and there was more. There was longing  
in his eyes that for the first time she saw were  
not black but midnight blue. There was a hint of   
gentleness in the curve of his mouth, and searing  
grief in the way he bowed his proud head.  
  
There was love in him. Whatever else there might be.  
Whatever rage and wildness and death--there was love.  
A wealth of it, an unending supply. How else could  
he have loved a wounded, hissing creature like Dru  
for not one lifetime but many? What kind of heart  
would it take to love so unselfishly for so very  
long? And how might that heart be breaking now?  
  
"If it's any help, I think Dru wanted--"  
  
Spike cut her off. "I know what Dru wanted, Slayer.  
I know why she sought me out. This was the ending  
she planned."  
  
But it didn't help. Buffy knew that too. She also  
knew what it was like to kill what you loved. The  
grief could kill you if you let it, and Spike wasn't  
looking so good.  
  
"I'm not gonna stake myself if that's what that look's   
for," he grumbled.  
  
"Did I say you were going to stake yourself?"  
  
"No, but you thought it. Don't deny it." He sighed  
then rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I'm gonna say   
this, but you're givin' me too much credit."  
  
Buffy watched him. "This coming from the vamp that  
wondered why Dru didn't cut off his head and set him  
on fire instead of leaving him?"  
  
"I can be dramatic sometimes."  
  
"You loved her." Buffy couldn't quite believe she  
was insisting on this.  
  
"More than life? Yeah. More than death?" He looked  
away from Buffy. "Apparently not."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
Spike began to look restless, edgy--well, at least he   
was beginning to look like Spike again. The super   
still, brooding thing had creeped her out.   
  
"Quick and simple?" he asked in an impatient voice.  
"I killed a creature I loved, and before you say  
a word about Angel trying to Hoover the world into the  
seventh ring of hell and you staking him, let me say  
this was different. I didn't love Dru for a year  
or two. I loved her for a hundred and twenty.  
That's twice many human lifetimes. That's five   
times longer than the average Slayer expiration date."  
  
Then Spike looked at her, and Buffy almost gasped.   
In the deep, dark blue of his eyes she saw confusion  
and even despair. She never thought she would see  
Spike in real despair. Dramatic angst? Sure. But  
lost soul despair? Never.  
  
But there he was with eyes so blue and so deep she  
lost her reflection in them as Spike said the most  
unexpected, nonsensical thing that Buffy could  
imagine. "You know, fleas helped create western  
civilization."  
  
Glancing around as if some headstone in the graveyard   
could explain what he meant Buffy searched for   
answers. "What?"  
  
"In the middle ages. The black death. The plague.  
It was caused by fleas on rats."  
  
Buffy frowned. "Yeah, so?"  
  
"So, all these peasants and serfs got killed off.  
Helped the labor market. Up until then you were   
born, you lived, you died all on a little piece  
of land owned by some toff in the castle. Nothin'   
you could do about it. But after the plague, if   
some Lord got the idea to jack up the rents the   
serf could tell him to sod off. He could pick up   
his things and move to the next town 'cause there   
was another toff needing someone to till his fields.  
It was a workers market, so to speak. Cities  
and towns got created because the little guy  
suddenly had a choice about what he wanted to do."  
  
Buffy was completely confused. "And the   
point of this little history lesson would be?"  
  
Spike pinned her with his darkly beautiful blue  
gaze. "The point being, even pestilence has  
a purpose." He turned again to face the night.   
"My purpose was to love Dru. To protect her.   
Even when I wasn't with her, I knew she was   
somewhere in the world, and if she needed me  
all she'd have to do is let me know. I wouldn't   
turn her away. I couldn't."  
  
Spike sighed. "She came here because she'd lost  
her reason to go on. For a while, Dru lived  
to be punished for having lived. . .or at least  
for having survived her death. Then she lived  
because deep down she knew her existence  
was a burr under Angel's saddle. She was the  
monster that he'd created but couldn't bring   
himself to kill. She became his punishment.  
Only the poof doesn't seem to be interested  
in masochism any more. He's beyond that and   
is in some deep dark place where he just   
doesn't care. Not bothered much by guilt if   
you can set a girl on fire, now are you? And  
if Angel wasn't sufferin' Dru didn't have a  
reason to stick around. She no longer served   
a purpose."  
  
Buffy cringed. Even if Dru had been evil, Buffy  
didn't like to hear about some of the horrible  
acts Angel was capable of committing. Buffy   
remembered a time of two...or three or four where  
she had mocked Spike's affection for Dru. But how   
judgmental could Buffy be about Spike loving a   
monster, when for so long she had loved the monster   
who had created Dru?  
  
"The thing is, Dru was right. All things die,"  
Spike mused. "They go out spectacularly with a  
bang, or they just quietly slip away when they   
stop serving any kind of purpose. Not to sound  
all hoity-toity philosophical or anything, but  
what purpose do I serve? Why am I here if there's  
no point in it?"  
  
Spike glanced over his shoulder. "Feel like  
staking a vamp tonight?"  
  
Buffy was shocked, surprised, and more reluctant  
than she would ever admit. "Can't do it if   
you want it. It's against Slayer policy."  
  
"Coward." Again he bowed his head. "I killed  
her though. Without a thought. Just did it."  
  
"To protect Dawn."  
  
He lifted his head. "You think? Nah, that  
can't be it. You hero. Me villain. It's  
that simple."  
  
Was it?  
  
Spike shook his leonine head. "No, I killed  
what I loved. What I needed. The one thing that  
gave my existence meaning. Takes real evil  
to do that."  
  
For once Spike didn't sound proud. He didn't sound   
eager to be bad, or scheming. . .Spike sounded lost.  
  
"I am evil." He said it as if it was a sudden,   
shocking realization.   
  
Buffy couldn't understand her urge to say no. No, he   
was more than that. That look in his eyes HAD to be   
more. . .Didn't it? She caught him looking at her.  
  
As if Spike knew of her uncharacteristically charitable   
thoughts he repeated for her benefit, "Even pestilence   
has a purpose. Fleas can free the masses, and  
a vampire can do the odd good deed. . .but make no   
mistake I AM a scourge. If I can kill what I love, I   
can kill anything -- even the ghost of humanity still   
left inside me. And if that's dead then no one is safe  
. . .not even me." He looked at her, and Buffy wondered   
what REAL truth was hidden by his deep blue gaze. She was   
starting to think not even Spike knew for sure.  
  
"I'm evil," he said quietly.  
  
But was he? Was he really? Or was Spike, like her,   
groping blindly for answers, desperate to make sense   
of the world and his place in it?  
  
Buffy was sad. Spike's resignation made her sad. Spike   
calling himself 'evil' was nothing more than what she'd   
said to his face a thousand times. That he was vile,   
evil, irredeemable. . .and yet. . .and yet. . .what had   
Dru said? That even in darkness his heart held some light?   
Could Buffy truly not allow herself to pity a creature who  
loved for lifetimes? Who could sacrifice his own reason to   
live...for love? For no reason but love.   
  
Whatever else Spike may be, whatever fate Spike   
might meet, he loved; and it was a pity he had never   
been loved equally well in return. Buffy followed   
the line of Spike's vision and noticed a new headstone  
just below his crypt. Only two words were etched on   
the granite--perhaps because Spike couldn't afford   
for it to say anything more. Two words.  
  
Drusilla. Beloved.  
  
And Buffy felt a tear fall from her lashes for two  
cursed creatures the world didn't allow to be  
pitied. Two creatures who were cursed for no wrong   
they had committed in life, but who faced death and  
eternal damnation with fierce pride, defiance,   
laughter and love. It was almost heroic in a way.   
  
Buffy gazed at the handsome lines of a beautiful  
male face, Spike's face, and wished she had known  
the gentle soul that Drusilla said she had met long  
ago. Buffy found herself wishing that she could have  
saved him.  
  
And so the enemies who might have been friends   
sat under the silent gaze of Dawn's broken angel. . .  



End file.
